


Weekly Doses

by mellyb6



Series: And Then There Were Four [5]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Arguments, Birthdays, Bondage porn, Christmas, Discussing Feelings, Doctors, Family Drama, Feelings, Forbidden kisses, Handcuffs, Holidays, Hospital, M/M, Mati, Mixed feelings, Playing around in a bath, Shouts and arguments, Sickness, Taking baths, Talks of break-up, The Adventures of Porthos and Aramis living with a child, There will be sex, Valentine's Day, because that is my calling, blindfold, break-ups, i'll smother you with cuteness, injuries, sweet memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:10:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 103,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6858160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyb6/pseuds/mellyb6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One week, it's only Porthos and Aramis. The following week, it's Porthos, Aramis and his son. Simple. Right?</p><p>Sequel to <em>Warning: Expect Side Effects<em></em></em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. October

It's raining while Porthos waits in front of the school. The drizzle is the perfect start to the fall season so he has pulled his hoodie up. He's come straight from the gym and had no time to change, not that ever does whenever he has to collect Mati in the afternoon. Because he's been the one picking him up for days now, when the boy stays with them for the week. Porthos likes it. It's taken another meeting with the director of the school for the administration to agree to someone else than his parents to pick him up, though. They've been assured that it would have been the same with anybody else who wasn't directly or legally related to one of the pupils. He didn't mind this. What he minded a little was the glance the director threw at them when she asked for Porthos' address and had assumed he would give her the same one as Anne. But the woman was smart enough, and polite enough, not to comment on it out loud.

 

The past month has been hectic in so many ways and if Porthos reflects on it, the madness actually started during the summer. Going on a holiday was out of the question. First because Aramis couldn't get one and also given all they had to do in Paris. Moving out, moving in, moving Anne and Mati in Aramis' old appartment for a couple of weeks and then in the nicer, bigger one she'd found. A 10-minute walk from the men's, which makes it easy on a weekly basis.

 

There was so much to think about, so much furniture to buy. Mati was excited to get two different bedrooms in two different appartments. In his mind, it certainly meant double the amount of toys as well. _This_ he was disappointed about. Aramis made up for it by being there so often, almost everyday. Mati forgot about new cars and coloring books. It seemed that he couldn't get enough of his father.

 

Which was a bit complicated to handle when they had to move or assemble beds, or chests of drawers, or desks. Anne was in that case more than happy to sit back and entertain their son.

 

All their friends were also enlisted to help, and of course rewarded by homecooked meals. Flea met Mati on such an occasion sometime in August and decided that he was as cute as his father, if not cuter. Porthos had to agree, much to Aramis' dismay, and to see the outraged look on his face. To which Flea added that if they ever needed a babysitter, she'd be happy to oblige. Charon mustn't have been consulted on this and his face was priceless. Yet, he knew better than to argue. So he kept on helping defeat Ikea instructions while Flea played with the boy and tried to make conversation with Anne.

 

She didn't appreciate her as much as she did her son, though, but Porthos assured his friend that you certainly couldn't love or even like everyone in the world. Besides, it didn't matter. He was the one who had to see Anne regularly and _he_ liked her.

 

Moving into two new appartments was only the beginning. It had been decided that Mati would spend one week with his mother and then one week with his father and so on. It was the best arrangement they could come up with. Aramis was thrilled, more now than when they had learned the good news of Anne's new job in Paris.

 

The day before they had to welcome his son for the first time, he went on a shoppinng frenzy to stock up the pantry. Porthos would have found it funny if he hadn't been aware that it hid anxiety and nervosity. Those were feelings he shared. Anne wouldn't be there and they would have to take complete care of Mati together. It wasn't just for a holiday this time. This was real life.

 

Both Aramis and Anne had to work and even if Porthos did, too, he could take Mati with him. He had done so before. That was the plan for now. It was cheaper than a babysitter and Mati loved it at the gym. He was becoming everyone's favourite person over there. Porthos was also growing more confident in his parenting skills.

 

The first real problem was the first night. His mother wasn't at home because this place wasn't _her_ home and Mati cried, and cried after being put to bed. He wasn't used to it. No amount of cuddling or kissing or soothing would make him settle down. Aramis looked clueless, sitting by his son's bed, one hand on the tiny chest, strong and warm, but not helping.

 

This spot was actually where Aramis ended up sleeping after Mati, exhausted, had cried himself to sleep. He was nonetheless still whimpering while dreaming when Porthos drew a blanket on his boyfriend and lay down next to him. It wasn't the best rest but they were in this together so he would suffer from a sore neck like Aramis.

 

The second night was easier, the third night, too and after that, Mati seemed to understand the new balance. So did Porthos, he believes. It's been such a turmoil, though, that there are moments when he has to pause and take a breath to realize that it is all really happening. That he's moved in with the man he's in love with, that they've been together for a year and a half. It makes him dizzy. He would never have imagined it possible. Aramis has brought so much with him, things that Porthos didn't even know he was missing.

 

In spite of daily troubles, ordinary and tiny problems they have to handle, Porthos feels lighter than he's ever been. As if his life was finally complete.

 

It happens in small touches.

 

For example, when he's standing in front of the bathroom mirror and he can hear Aramis hum or whistle while he's choosing his clothes or making the bed. It makes Porthos happy right in the early hours of the day.

 

Or when he's reading and he has to look up because an insistant pair of eyes and blond curls are staring at him, hoping that he'll come play. Porthos hasn't finished as many books as he'd liked since Mati has started to consider him like an irreplaceable member of his playtime.

 

Or when he's coming home at night and Aramis is reading with Mati on the couch, the both of them snuggled so close, they make only one. And Porthos couldn't say whose smile is the most genuine once they've noticed his presence.

 

Or when he wakes up at night and sees Aramis sleeping soundly by his side, wild curls everywhere on the pillow. Porthos wants to kiss him, to take his breath away and tell him how lucky he feels that Aramis has chosen him.

 

Or when Mati starts to make a fuss. Because of the vegetables, or because he doesn't feel like saying thank you, or because he _wants_ to come in bed with them, or when he _says_ he's coming in the fitness room with Porthos. He's 5 now, he's big enough. These are times when Porthos has to say no, either by himself or with Aramis' help. It doesn't get easier but it does become more natural for him to put his foot down and show the boy who is in charge. Porthos always feels guilty yet he tries to never show it and it's starting to work.

 

Even when they're both cranky because they're busy at work and having a child in the midst is new and unusual. When they snap or hardly get a moment to themselves unless it's late at night or early in the morning. Aramis wants to dedicate as much time to Porthos as he does to Mati. He's too scared he'll mess up and ruin everything. Unfortunately, they've soon realized it's technically impossible because they are bone tired after their long days.

 

Aramis makes up for it by including Porthos in all their activities. Besides, when Mati leaves on Sunday evenings, they have seven days without him...They catch up on some intense cuddling of their own during these weeks.

 

It's almost like having two lives and Porthos wouldn't be able to say which one he enjoys more. Aramis is always there, sunny smiles, crinkled eyes, tanned skin, boucing curls. Porthos craves it all.

 

He's having such a moment on this Thursday afternoon. In this street in mid-October, waiting for the children to come out of the building. Two years ago, he wouldn't have believed it. A long-term relationship? Sure, he would have liked that. Dating someone who had a child? Becoming and acting like a parent for said boy? Are you kidding me? Changing his entire work schedule and incidentally those of his employees to accommodate his newly-found family? No way.

 

And yet, that's where he belongs. Under the rain, hands buried in the pockets of his track pants, watching children shout and scatter in the playground.

 

Mati skids to a halt in front of him once the gate has been opened. He's all flushed cheeks, one of the shoulder straps is sliding down his arm until his bag completely drops to the ground and Porthos has to grab it for him.

 

“Hi, Porfos!” There's always so much sunshine in the honest greeting that Porthos has to smile back. Widely. Every time.

 

“Hey! Did you have fun today?” He ruffles his hair a little, something he'd seen Aramis do countless times and yet would have never dared do himself. Living with the boy has changed their interactions for the best. Spending the most part of the summer together as well.

 

Their exchange never wavers from one school day to another. It's regular and comfortable. Today, Mati nods eagerly, but stops mid-sentence to talk with one of his classmates. How easy it is for young children to make new friends.

 

“Excuse me?” Porthos is interrupted before he can get a hold on Mati again. Because it _is_ raining and he wouldn't want him to get sick on his watch. He turns around to study the woman with the umbrella and the smart clothes.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Are you Matias'...er...” She looks from him to the little boy, searches for her words and clearly doesn't want to make a faux pas. Porthos can understand: they look nothing alike after all.

 

“I'm Mati's stepfather,” he supplies, and her face lights up. It's a title he'd never presumed he'd wear one day, but he's growing quite fond of it. Proud even. Life does work in mysterious ways.

 

“I'm Dimitri's mother,” the woman explains after they've shaken hands. In saying so, she points to one of the boys surrouding Mati. “We're celebrating his birthday in a few weeks and since Matias is new...”

 

“Mati,” Pothos has to rectify. He hates how French people apparently cannot shorten names on a regular basis.

 

“Yes, sorry. Since he's new, Dimitri said he wanted to add him to the list of guests.”

 

“That's very nice of him.” Impressed and thankful, Porthos takes the envelope she hands him. It's the first actual birthday invitation he's ever held in his life. Mati is lucky. “I'll pass the message along. Thank you.”

 

She thanks him, too, doesn't ask more questions but goes to gather her son and then they're off. Porthos does about the same, his hand tight on Mati's as they walk to a bakery to buy the little boy's afternoon snack. Mati rambles about his day, half in French and half in Spanish. He's still finding it difficult to hear both languages at school and to choose which one to use outside of it. Porthos doesn't mind.

 

Mati's hood is half on his face, but Aramis would never admit that he bought the wrong size. The store clearly thinks that children aged five are way taller than they actually are. That's all.

 

They eat their pastries in the kitchen at home while Mati explains that he learned a new song. He's also quick to give a rendition of it to his audience. A few claps and a warm congratulation are all he needs to grin proudly. There is chocolate smeared around his mouth that he lets Porthos wipe clean for him.

 

“I hear you've been invited to a birthday party.” Mati nods and nods, still smiling until he has to concentrate to not spill milk on the table.

 

“Yes! With Dimitri! He lives in a big house with a park!” He gestures to show how impressed he is by its assumed size.

 

“Does he now? In Paris?”

 

“Yes! And he says we'll have a treaso...teasu...treas...”

 

“Treasure hunt?”

 

“Yes!”

 

And once Porthos has checked the address on the back of the card, he understands how someone can have a park inside of Paris. He may even be rather certain that Mati isn't exaggerating the size of it. It seems to be quite the private school Aramis and Anne found for their son.

 

“You remember that tonight it's just the two of us, don't you?” Porthos asks after they're done snacking and the dishes are joining the pile in the sink.

 

“Yep.”

 

“Good. So we have to be super efficient and Papá will be extra proud of us when he'll come back. Agreed?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Excellent.” He holds his hand out so that Mati can high five it before Porthos lets him scamper off to the living room and his toys.

 

It's never quiet when Mati stays with them. Portho doesn't see his friends as much as he used to before Aramis. When he was single. When he didn't have this type of responsibilities. It doesn't frighten him to excess. They have a routine for the couple of hours before Aramis comes back from work. Tonight, he'll only have to also do the entire schedule up to Mati's bedtime by himself. Dinner is already cooked and Porthos simply needs to heat it up. Because Aramis is exceptional and knew today might be more demanding than usual.

 

So Mati plays in a corner and Porthos doesn't have any other choice than to wash the dishes, all the while trying to remember that he cannot swear too loudly at Aramis not doing the washing-up after cooking. They're taking the no-swearing rule very seriously.

 

Toys are abandoned all over the living room once Porthos finally emerges from the kitchen, and since most of them aren't being used at present, Mati drags his feet when he's asked to put them away. The adults keep on tripping on them. Porthos has learned how to assert his authority and besides, the boy is young enough to not challenge him simply because he isn't one of his actual parents. For Mati, they are all the same: Mamá, Papá, and Porfos. He stands up to them regardless of who they are.

 

Dinner is a quiet business afterwards, apart from Mati complaining about almost every piece of food. He nevertheless eats most of it, as he isn't given another option. His father cooked it for them, it took time and it's good to build muscles and grow strong. The child has been asking to play football in a club and since it's something they are actually considering, _this_ argument works well.

 

Porthos amazes himself by putting the boy to bed without it being an ordeal. At least no more than usual. Mati loathes brushing his teeth, ponders out loud why he cannot take a bath. As far as he's concerned, everyone should take daily baths. Then he requests another episode on TV. Who knows? One night they might well grant it to him. Not today.

 

Choosing the right bedtime story takes forever as well.

 

Really, it's no wonder that Aramis and Porthos always collapse on the couch, sighing, once the boy is finally asleep. Anne never mentioned _that_. She laughed in Aramis' face when he whined about it, telling him that there were so many other little things she couldn't wait for him to experience on a daily basis.

 

Porthos stretches on the couch with a beer in hand, all alone as he waits for his boyfiend, legs propped up on the coffee table. He's dozing off by the time the key turns in the lock. Aramis looks dashing in his suit and his tie hanging loose around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt undone.

 

“You should always dress like that,” Porthos greets him. The other chuckles, kicks off his shoes, loses his jacket and bends down to kiss Porthos hello. Just like that, Aramis feels at home. Coming inside the appartment didn't do it for him. The gorgeous albeit tired man welcoming him did.

 

Aramis sighs with contentment, balances his weight on the armrest so he won't collapse. Then he puts one knee on the couch as they seem unable to break the kiss and instead deepen it. Porthos' fingers sneak behind his boyfriend's head and undo his ponytail, free the curls which fall down, soft and silky. He tugs on a loose one as he gladly opens his mouth for Aramis' eager tongue. He lets it soothe and relaxe him.

 

Aramis stumbling forward to sit half on top of Porthos doesn't stop them. His hand is on the back of Porthos' neck, clutching the skin he's spent so much time apart from.

 

“I've missed you,” Aramis confesses quietly, lazy fngers roaming freely, petting the other's hair while his boyfriend rubs his back. Porthos refrains fom saying that they saw each other in the morning or that's he's come home only three hours later than usual.

 

He relishes and lives for these small professions of love, proof of how much he means to Aramis. If he should ever doubt it.

 

Aramis gives him another peck on the lips, gives a side glance to find the beer he's just tasted on Porthos' mouth and groans because it's empty. He's drunk a lot already anyway and standing up isn't appealing.

 

“Is the monster sleeping?” he asks instead.

 

“He is. We were quite on time.” Porthos is rewarded by his boyfriend drapping one arm over his chest and nuzzling the side of his neck with his nose.

 

“He didn't make a fuss, did he?” There's only silence after that, which is enough of an answer. Aramis drops one soft kiss to Porthos' skin.

 

“No more than what we're used to. We read Peter Pan again.”

 

“Of course you did. He can _fly_.”

 

“And there's pixie dust.”

 

Aramis nods, stifles a yawn. Porthos' backrub is amazing and it does wonders to his poor aching muscles.

 

“Was it fun?” Porthos eventually asks. Aramis has closed his eyes, breathing in the comfortable smell that he loves so much. That is so much Porthos. It's exhilirating.

 

“Oh yes. There were so many people to meet. And champagne, too.”

 

“That, I gathered. You've got that tinkle in your eyes.”

 

Aramis raises his head to stare at his boyfriend. Even in his half-drowsiness he can see him grinning .

 

“So it was worth missing a night with us, am I right?”

 

This is something Aramis has to agree with, in spite of how he complained that having a work function a week when Mati was with them wasn't fair. Especially a work function for which he had to dress up and that Porthos couldn't attend. Now, though, he's delighted to have been able to meet and talk with prestigious people, talented authors and professionals who could potentially help him in his career. It was a good night. His heart is still racing a little as well, but not from the alcohol.

 

“Especially when you'll know who was there.” He disentangles himself from Porthos' arms to fetch his backpack from which he extricates the outfit he had on during the day, and a book. His fingers tingle just holding it and handing it to his boyfriend.

 

“I already have this one. And so do you.”

 

“Of course we do. Because it's beautiful. But this copy is different. Open it,” Aramis prompts Porthos, sinking back on the couch next to him. Porthos hurries to do as he's asked, to find the dedication. It's a handwritten one. He has to do a double take and Aramis is grinning like a child who just saw Santa Claus.

 

“Are you...are you serious?” He remembers to keep his voice down. They don't want to wake Mati. “Jean d'Ormesson was there?”

 

“Yep. And he was amazing. The best. And since you adore him...” He gestures at the book, at the words written for his boyfriend. He's pretty satisfied of his unexpected surprise. Aramis noticed the author's name on the guest list weeks ago and yet he had never confirmed that he would attend. Seeing this genius in the flesh was quite the highlight of the evening.

 

“Who doesn't? _You_ are the best, Aramis. Thank you.”

 

He flips through the book in silence for a moment, Aramis nestled by his side. They're eager to have some time to themselves before going to sleep. Aramis tells him who else was at the party, then inquires if Mati ate his dinner correctly.

 

“He complained that the French beans were, and I quote, too squishy.” Aramis tuts. “And the chicken too dry.”

 

“How dares he? Did he eat it, though?”

 

“Some of it, yeah.” Aramis tuts again.

 

“I cannot wait for the day when he'll finish his plate.”

 

But they both know he's joking about being dissatisfied. For him, everything that Mati does or says is most of the time precious, cute and these are moments to cherish forever. He's waited so long for a seemingly normal domestic life with his son. Those downsides of living with a child are things he rejoices in. Aramis takes nothing for granted. He's learned never to do that.

 

That's why he once again kisses Porthos to thank him. He's such a great support that even if he appears to be happy with their current life, Aramis makes it a habit to tell him how much he appreciates his help, whenever he can.

 

“He's been invited to a birthday party, by the way.”

 

“Nice. When?”

 

“After the break.” Aramis quickly does the math then stretches happily.

 

“Sweet. He'll be with Anne.”

 

“You don't want to spend an afternoon with a group of children on a sugar high?”

 

Aramis shakes his head vigorously, regrets it as a sharp pain explodes on his temples.

 

“I'd rather spend it with you.”

 

Porthos snorts at the answer and how snuggly Aramis is right now, one leg thrown on top of his. They are pressed so close they end up flush together, the white of Aramis' shirt a stark contrast from Porthos' dirty pj top.

 

There are fingers gliding up and down Porthos' chest with no other real intention than to enjoy the feeling. They're both too tired to want more tonight. Besides, Porthos finds it a bit awkward to have sex while there's a child in the appartment. Even if said child is sleeping.

 

“Speaking of birthdays....it'll be yours soon. Any idea what you'd like to do?”

 

He's not asking about presents because they didn't exchange any the previous year. They have no need for material proof of their affection when they can show it through actions. Porthos simply shrugs.

 

“It doesn't matter. As long as we can spend a lot of time together.”

 

“Doing...?”

 

“Anything really. But mostly you, I guess.” He smirks down at Aramis. Winks. “Unless you want to catch up on movies or something.”

 

“No! Doing me sounds like a _marvellous_ plan.”

 

He proves it by getting more comfortable on the couch and kissing the other deeply, giving him a preview of things to come. Until they're both smiling so much that they have to stop. Cuddling is good. Cuddling is what Aramis lives for.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, I'm on [Tumblr ](http://i-own-loki.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Jean d'Ormesson is one of my favourite French persons ever.


	2. November (Part I)

Porthos groans at the tickling feeling creeping under his skin. He's having a very good dream, or so he thinks. One he'd like to continue, but something is pulling him away from his slumber. It's soft, and at times it isn't even touching him properly. It's the touch of a feather, warm and light. It stays on his stomach, though, and when Porthos makes to swat it, his fingers encounter others. He groans louder, trapping Aramis' hand in his and he hopes he's imagined the low chuckle which follows.

 

He refuses to open his eyes as he buries his face in the pillow and grumbles incoherent words to order his boyfriend to let him be. Not able to use his hand, Aramis moves in the bed, shifts closer to Porthos until he's completely spooning him. He drops short kisses onto the nape of Porthos' neck, he kisses the goosebumps as soon as they appear.

 

His eyes are closed, too, and besides, it's still too dark for any of them to see anything. Porthos' body is hardly unknown territory anymore. Aramis manages to keep on rubbing the bare skin of the other's stomach with his thumb, his right hand petting the short hair. The proceedings seem to entice Porthos' interest who surrenders a little and loosens his grip so that skilled and lazy fingers can resume their exploration. He nevertheless does so groanins and cursing Aramis. The only answer is another chuckle.

 

Porthos' muscles clench at the fingernails grazing his sensitive flesh. Even if it feels like a furnace under the bed sheets, he shivers. He won't deny that the caresses are nice. They're always nice, but so is sleeping.

 

“Aramis...,” he slurs to protest because his boyfriend's fingers are moving their attention lower, skimming Porthos' underwear. Then going further down on his thigh. And then on the other. Aramis is everywhere at once despite going incredibly slowly. His hot mouth on Porthos' neck is such a distraction. Porthos moans, wants to arch his back but the other is flushed against him. Aramis doesn't mind this friction. Neither does Porthos.

 

“Happy birthday,” Aramis whispers. He raises his head slightly so he can nuzzle Porthos' cheek, until he deigns to turn his face to be given a proper kiss. His mouth is furred but Aramis doesn't care, hasn't cared about that for months. Nothing can stop him from kissing Porthos.

 

He's still drowsy, his mind half lost between dream and reality. Each touch is waking him further and he's about ready to forgive the hour or minutes of sleep he's been robbed of.

 

Aramis is playing with the other's underwear, fingers gliding over it, around his groin and yet never going where Porthos hopes they'll go. Aramis takes his time, kisses him deeply, runs one hand in his hair, then along his jaw and his cheek. In the darkness, Porthos manages to find his eyes once he's grown accustomed to it. Aramis looks sleepy as they break the kiss.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Happy birthday,” he repeats. His eyes are locked on his boyfriend and Aramis actually parts his lips a little as he finally cups Porthos' cock through his underwear.

 

It makes Porthos groan. He effectively arches his back this time, and can feel Aramis' half-hard erection rubbing againts his ass. When he opens his eyes again, because he wants to watch Aramis even if it hurts his neck, it's to see him biting his lip.

 

Aramis can make out how Porthos' mouth opens and how he moans at being touched like that. He's hot without even touchding Porthos' skin. Rubbing and clutching, leaving no part of his cock untouched, it's enough to drive him crazy. Porthos drops his head on the pillow, settles down on his back and totally accepts this wake up call. Aramis shifts as well, throws the comforter at their feet so he can stare at Porthos' naked and heaving chest, at his own hand pleasuring him.

 

There are tiny grunts whenever Aramis strokes harders and Porthos jerks his hips a couple of times. Aramis thrusts his tongue deep into the other's mouth, relishes in the gasp he has to swallow as he does so.

 

Porthos is feeling much awake now, giving over to his boyfriend to do as he pleases. Because he's certain he'll love it immensely.

 

“Hips up,” Aramis commands and by the time Porthos has kicked his briefs off, all the teasing and touching have made him quite hard. Add to it the feeling of Aramis' palm on his actual flesh and Porthos is groaning. His voice is hoarse in the early hours of the morning and it only sparks more desire in Aramis.

 

They have time today, it's just the two of us and they know how to get ready for work quickly if needs be.

 

His strokes on Porthos' cock are deliberately slow. Aramis feels the skin, how it pulses, how it hardens. How Porthos shudders with each pull. How his hand closes on Aramis' neck to keep their heads close and they are unable to stop kissing. He's becoming greedy. Aramis' actions make him hot and tingly and he wonders if he isn't still dreaming.

 

Then there's a harder, longer pull on his cock, the fist around it stronger now for a few seconds. It goes faster before slowing down. Aramis repeats the pattern, takes a breath to nibble on Porthos' lip, to kiss the beard that he loves and always wants to be able to pet.

 

Porthos can't really remain still next to him and he's a sight to behold. Gloriously naked, hard muscles begging to be touched, his hard and long cock so thick and eager to be used. Aramis is more than happy to comply, brushing his thumb over the tip, then palming it with a sticky hand. He's vaguely aware that he's rutting against Porthos' side because being the one giving to Porthos turns Aramis on almost as much as being the one teased. Moreover, Porthos' tiny noises are finding their way straight to his core. He isn't the one receiving attention, though. Not this morning.

 

“Keep doing that,” Porthos gasps out. The erratic pattern is working perfectly well on him. It's like feeling his desire build up, being on the verge of letting it wash over only to be denied his release. Not so soon. Porthos relishes in the sweet torture.

 

He's growing crazy about the way Aramis alternates between soft strokes, hardly touching him and then presses hard, moves fast. His cock leaks some more on Aramis' fingers.

 

“You're beautiful,” Aramis praises him, for the sake of his boyfriend's eyes shooting open to catch the truthful gaze of the other. “You're beautiful and you're mine.”

 

Porthos grunts his approval, accepts the kiss which follows only to whimper as the lips withdraw too quickly. Aramis wants to see what he is doing. He wants to look at Porthos' cock in his fist, hot and so alive, so appealing. So inviting.

 

So much that with a twinkle in his eyes, Aramis scrambles lower in the bed, feels the tremors running through Porthos' body when he drops kisses on his stomach and then doesn't lose time sucking the glistening cockhead.

 

Porthos shouts out in the silence, grips the sheets. He feels on fire at the tongue licking his cock, mostly the tip. Short, quick licks to draw him close to his release. He can feel it in his stomach, in his guts. Aramis is sending electric sparks under his skin thanks to his wet tongue, his fingers still working him and the lips wrapping around the cockhead. They hardly go further down. Aramis makes pleased noises as he concentrates there. His mouth stretches around Porthos' cock and soon he's going so fast that it's all too much too soon.

 

Especially as he slows down suddenly, swirls his tongue again and again then sucks Porthos off completely until his lips rests on the cockhead again for a few seconds. The sudden respite surprises Porthos who manages to raise his head to catch the mischievous look on Aramis' face. He was only waiting to have an audience to his performance and resumes his ministrations without ever breaking eye-contact.

 

Often, Porthos can barely see his eyes under fluttering eyelashes. Yet it's rather erotic to see his boyfriend taking such pleasure from blowing him. It's making Porthos hotter than he possibly imagined.

 

What does it is the flat of Aramis' tongue and how eager it is to worship every inch of him. It's going so fast now, hardly ever stopping. Aramis breathes out through his nose, gropes for something to hold on to and settles for Porthos' hip. He clutches the skin there, fingernails digging in the flesh.

 

Porthos howls a little as he comes, his entire body shuddering, while Aramis presses him down so he doesn't gag. Nothing will stop him from licking and sucking Porthos totally. To let him enjoy his orgasm to the very end of it, to the last spasm and the last grunt.

 

Porthos feels whole and not drained for a second despite his heart thudding and his mind being too foggy for him to focus.

 

Aramis has had time to wipe his mouth, to gather the duvet and to lie down again when his boyfriend eventually opens his eyes. He lets out a shuddering breath which sounds like a chuckle. Aramis's fingers trail on his forehead.

 

“Happy birthday,” he says for the third time this morning. Porthos hums out, satisfied, before stretching. He yawns and doesn't have any energy to hide it. Aramis huffs dramatically.

 

“Is that the effect I have on you?”

 

He's propped on an elbow, looking down at his spent boyfriend until Porthos gathers him in his arms, almost crushes him under his weight.

 

“You have a fantastic effect on me,” he promises, one hand sneaking in between their bodies and finding Aramis' erection. “And I believe I have the same on you.”

 

The voice is deep and husky. First, Aramis moans loudly, nods, pushes his hips forward to finally have the attention he's been lacking. But after, he seems to remember something important.

 

“You don't have to...”

 

“Hush. It's my birthday. I'll do what I want.”

 

There's nothing left to do but comply and gasps as Porthos expertly jerks him off. The beard on his neck scratches and Porthos keeps on doing it on purpose because the other likes it. And he knows it.

Aramis comes with a long moan that lasts for so long as his body goes rigid for a few seconds and Porthos kisses the crinkles around his eyes. A sweet gesture compared to the mess he wipes out from Aramis' stomach and his own hand with his underwear.

 

“Who can I petition so that every day is my birthday?”

 

Aramis laughs, throws his arms in his air now that the sun is rising quietly and there's a faint light in the bedroom. Cold, but welcome.

 

“We're going to the game tonight,” he mentions casually, as if it wasn't a surprise for Porthos. He lets his heartbeat slow down. Porthos' hand is firm and motionless on his stomach. It's a nice anchor. He would have gladly spent the day in bed.

 

“What game?”

 

“The football game.”

 

“Really? That's awesome. Thank you.” He's delighted by the surprising news. “Does that mean you're not cooking for me?” He then asks with a pout. It makes him so adorable that Aramis sits up with a remarkable effort and draps himself all over Porthos. As close as he can get. It never gets old.

 

“I'll cook tomorrow. We're going with Athos and Charon tonight. Think about how disappointed they'll be if we cancel because you're always starving.”

 

It takes some time for them to leave the bed and shower. It's a wonder to Porthos how Aramis could hide his birthday the very first time they met. He clearly enjoys these special dates tremendously, no matter who is getting older. For the short hour they are together over breakfast, he wishes him countless times, constantly giving Porthos kisses on the cheek or clutching his hand. Waking up to someone smiling that much would put even the grumpiest man in a good mood.

 

There's perhaps a lesser display of affection in the evening in the packed stadium. Athos was clearly the provider for the tickets given that they are sitting in one of the nicest sections of the bleachers.

 

Porthos and Aramis are both too drunk from the beers during the game and the drinks afterwards at Athos', which helped nurse the loss of their team. And Aramis was clever enough not to pipe out that he was glad the Spanish team had won.

 

They fall asleep on a messy pile in the bed and Porthos sort of regrets the excess as he has to endure a massive hangover at work the next day. It being a Saturday means that Aramis gets to stay in bed. That's enough to make his boyfriend jealous when he watches the other sleep and snore on his way out. The music is too loud in the gym but a couple of painkillers enable him to do a decent job. One hour of dancing and he's exhausted, though. It's really not a surprise that Aramis texts him to tell him he's skipping fencing practice today.

 

Instead, they meet to go grocery shopping. No matter how strong the headache, Aramis is determined to cook a feast. He looks like he's just rolled out of bed, his hair dishevelled and his eyes barely capable of focusing on anything for long. It's cute.

 

There's so much to buy on the list, since they'll collect Mati tomorrow and the boy requires a better diet than what the men usually rely on whenever it's just the two of them. Porthos used to despise shopping but doing so with his boyfriend is entertaining. It's not about finding the cheapest goods. It's about finding the best ingredients for his recipes and there's always this improbable but essential herb or spice that he has to rampage for. That's also cute.

 

Porthos ends up carrying most of the bags home, but that's all he is allowed to do. Aramis is quite adamant that he should rest and relax. Watch TV or sleep even, while he gets busy in the kitchen. Yet, Porthos loves watching Aramis cook. He's dedicated and obviously enjoys it a lot. Much more than Porthos ever did. So why be in two separate rooms when he can sit at the table and sneakingly help by innocently measuring flour, sugar or cream. Saying that he does it to be rewarded by kisses wouldn't be a lie.

 

“We're improving,” Porthos remarks. “Last year you didn't want to tell me what you were making.”

 

“True. But last year I also didn't know your father would join us. Whereas tonight...I want to cook something he'll like.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“No problem.” Aramis bends down to give him another peck on the lips then playfully slaps the hand trying to drag him onto Porthos' lap. “You're his boy. Why not invite him for your birthday? Besides, he must be lonely. I've never seen him with anyone. Or heard him mention anyone.”

 

“Yeah, he's like that. I don't think he minds.”

 

“But it's sad,” Aramis whines. Porthos stands up at this, to hug him from behind. For once, Aramis doesn't ask him to let him concentrate on the food preparation. He sinks against him, welcomes the hot kiss on his neck. Porthos smiles against his skin.

 

“Maybe he's had people I don't know about. If it's that important for you, why don't you ask him later?”

 

The question triggers goosebumps and Aramis startles a little. Porthos laughs.

 

“I'd rather not.”

 

He likes Tréville's company even if he often finds him cold or too authoritative to joke with him. Perhaps this will fade throughout the years. It's a thrilling feeling to think long term without a second thought. Only a major catastrophe would tear Porthos and him apart. He's sure of it. And he's resolute to avoid these at all costs. Aramis clutches Porthos' arms wrapped around his waist.

 

For the time being, though, he'll stray from inquiries which could prompt Tréville's wrath or hatred. Which is why Aramis sticks to light subjects over dinner. He can hardly contain his joy at Porthos talking about Mati, about what they do together. It's becoming so natural that it overshadows all the fears and doubts the man might have had the previous year or a couple of months ago.

 

Porthos is oblivious to Aramis' transfixed gaze. So engrossed in his tale of ordinary life that he almost forgets to eat while he listens to everything his boyfriend has to say. Aramis is starting to wonder whether Porthos isn't more elated to live with the child than his actual father is.

 

It's enough to forget how angry Porthos was the previous week. How he shouted and swore when Mati spilled the paint he wasn't even supposed to be using in the living room on the beloved, and rather expensive, rug. It's been genuine anger, his words like thunder before he could calm down.

 

Aramis had certainly never seen him like this. Their fights have hardly ever turned into shouting matches. He'd also never seen Mati so frozen on his spot, paint dripping from the container. Wide eyes and hunched shoulders, before whimpers and open sobs. He'd run into his father's arms, terrified, but Aramis had stood by Porthos' side, in spire of how shaken he was as well.

 

One week later, Porthos still feels bad about his outburst. It's not okay to scare a young child like this. Grounding him should have sufficed. If the kiss goodbye Mati gave him the next day was proof of anything, it was that he didn't resent the adult at all. He had broken a rule after all. It reassured Porthos a bit. He'll nevertheless have to have more self-control next time.

 

“That was an excellent cake, Aramis,” Tréville declares when they're done eating. Aramis smiles and flushes at the compliment even though he shouldn't be surprised. He's always been quite the baker.

 

“Thank you. It'll make up for the one Anne said she'd bake for tomorrow.”

 

“You know how hopeless I am when it comes to cooking?” Porthos starts to explain before Aramis cuts him off.

 

“You're not that bad, Porthos. Your chicken nuggets are to die for, from what I heard.” He throws him a cheeky grin which results in Porthos punching his shoulder and his father marvelling at how beneficial this relationship is for his adopted son.

 

“Well,” Porthos resumes. “Anne is about as talented as I am. And I, for one, greatly look forward to her cake.”

 

Aramis snorts, rubs his shoulder and serves them all some more wine.

 

In the end, Anne's dessert turns out to be on the dry and crumbly side. Because she isn't used to this oven and the appliance cooks things faster than what the recipe says. She drowned it in chocolate sauce and whipped sauce, though. Her son deems it yummy, asks for more and Aramis knows they'll start the week with a hyper kid.

 

It doesn't seem to faze Porthos who is more interested in his plate. It's strange for him to have so many people willing to set up special times to celebrate his birthday. He's blown off candles three days in a row and Mati's help was invaluable today.

 

“Any exciting plans for this week?” Aramis asks Anne, sipping on his cider and watching Mati gather the toys he wants to bring to his father's appartment. Anne's place is as messy as theirs when Mati spends the week and it comforts him.

 

Anne shrugs, fiddles with her fork.

 

“I've a lot to do at work.”

 

“What about that play you were talking about? I heard it's opened.”

 

“Maybe. I'm just really looking forward to having some time to relax.”

 

“Yes, but...”

 

“I'm fine, Aramis,” she replies rather curtly, in spite of the smile on her face. He's simply eager to be sure that she has a life of her own, now that she doesn't have to care for Mati 24/7. And moving to another city, to another country, he knows first-hand how difficult and unsettling it can be.

 

Her answer doesn't satisfy him, and Porthos also cocks his head in surprise at the cold words. She won't let it spoil his day.

 

“Mati, sweetie. Didn't you have something for Porthos?” That gets the little boy's attention.

 

“Yes!” He scampers to his bedroom to retrieve the wrapped package he carefully hands to Porthos. “For your birfday!”

 

“Thank you! Oh, okay...” he adds when the child starts to climb onto his lap. He's getting bigger. He's five _and a half_ now. Which is extremely important.

 

“Can I help?”

 

“Mati...”

 

“Sure you can! Here you go.” Porthos waves Aramis off, grabs the outstretched hand on the table. He's content looking at Mati unwrapping his gift. Porthos is actually stunned he's giving him anything at all. The afternoon cake at Anne's was already more than he expected. How lucky he is to have such a family. Because he cannot think of them any other way anymore.

 

Mati is an expert at opening presents and soon, he looks up at Porthos, waiting for his reaction.

 

“That's you. Porfos, that's you.” He points at one of the people on the drawing. His drawing skills haven't improved much, but it doesn't matter. “That's me!” He points at the smaller stick figure and the best drawn-out detail on the paper must be the football between the characters who are portrayed playing a game. “And that's Papá! He's cooking cookies.”

 

“How come I'm not playing with you?”

 

“You cook.”

 

“All right, all right.” Aramis chuckles, studying the drawing as well. The Eiffel Tower which fascinates his son, the sun and the trees and what has to look like a pan and a stove. It displays everything at once, in a giant cluster. But it's been framed and the page looks pristine with no ripped corner. Mati's been careful with this one.

 

“You like it, Porfos?”

 

“Oh, yes. Definitely. Best present. Thank you, buddy.”

 

Mati beams up, throws one tiny arm around Portho's neck and drags him down so he can kiss his cheek soundly.

 

It'll always baffle his stepfather. To be loved that much. To have become such a feature in the child's life. He'll do anything to never mess up, to be a rock and a support and he'll try to never shatter his life beyond repair. It's a big responsibility, one he knew he was taking from the very first moment he's agreed to meet the boy, and more recently when he's agreed to include him in their Parisian life. He wouldn't have imagined it otherwise, not if he wanted to keep Aramis.

 

Aramis who grips his hand a little tighter at the display of affection. Once Mati has demanded to hop down, Porthos also finds Anne fondly looking at them both, like she always does. There's no apparent trace of her previous trouble as she hands him another slice of cake.

 

Porthos wishes his birthday could last forever.

 


	3. November (Part II)

It's an exciting time for Porthos at the gym. Mati has spent a few weeks there in the summer and half of the fall break since Aramis still can't get any vacation day. Porthos doesn't mind having the child on the premises. There is always someone more than eager to play babysitter rather than doing the job they are actually paid for. Even though Porthos is definitely not an expert, he believes Mati is an easy kid. He's never had these big outbursts you sometimes see in supermarkets or public places. If he raises his voice or shows a bad attitude, any of the adults are quick to stop it. They rarely have to resort to shouting.

 

Yet, Porthos is always on edge whenever Mati has to spend the day or even a couple of hours at the gym. Not that he doesn't trust himself or his employees. Many things could go wrong nevertheless. Which is why he's had several meetings with his insurance company, his bank, and architects, to add another space to the gym. So it can be turned into an actual daycare room. With someone whose job would solely be dedicated to look after children. Because many of his customers must have some of their own. The new feature would allow them to come more often. Who knows, it might even attract new prospective clients. Anything which could improve business. But the safety of Mati and other kids first. Of course.

 

Not that Porthos hates having the boy there, but Mati always shadows him everywhere and doing a good job like this isn't practical. He hopes it'll lessen in a few months when the works will be finished.

 

The architects just left after a few hours spent in the building, to show Porthos the blueprints and to decide where to redesign space to accommodate the new addition. So he is celebrating by having a cold drink at the bar, wondering whether he could fit some weight-lifting before going to pick Mati up at school.

 

In the end, the decision is made for him.

 

“Porthos? Your father's on the phone.” His employee points at the front desk. He frowns, grabs his glass. Tréville never calls. Especially not at the gym.

 

“Transfer the call to my office.” The girl skips to her chair, her ponytail swinging on her head, while her boss strides to his office and bangs the door.

 

“Dad? Hi.”

 

“Hello. I'm not bothering you, am I?”

 

“Absolutely not. What's wrong?”

 

“Why? Can't I just call you?” He chuckles, but it's too dry, too forced. One sound and Porthos is aware something _is_ wrong.

 

“You saw me on Saturday. We caught up quite a bit then.” He's still smiling remembering all the amazing things which happened for his birthday. Little touches and attentions, much more than what Porthos is used to.

 

The orphanage wasn't rich enough to host birthday parties. Most of his foster families didn't care. When Tréville adopted him, he was a bitter teenager who didn't care about this cursed date that he resented a lot. As an adult, Flea made a point to celebrate all of their birthdays but it's always been low key.

 

Celebrating with a family that he is building, that he has, it's new. Enjoyable. Porthos doesn't remember any birthday with his mother.

 

“That was only two days ago, Dad. What's up?”

 

He hears a low sigh which makes him uncomfortable at once. His father must shuffle in his chair in the silence filling the line. Porthos fidgets on his feet.

 

“Dad?”

 

“Can we meet later?” Porthos glances at the clock.

 

“I have to go get Mati at 4.30. And we're usually home around 5.15 afterwards. If you want to come by any time after that. But...why? What's happened?”

 

“I've got something for you.” He seems to hesitate to say more and Porthos is starting to feel his uneasiness drip through the phonecall. He _hates_ it. “A letter came for you today.”

 

“At the Ministry? How come?”

 

They don't even have the same last name. Porthos retained his mother's. It was the last thread of her existence he could hang on to so he wasn't going to relinquish it.

 

“It's complicated. I'd rather....I'd rather tell you in person, Porthos. And give it to you.”

 

“All right, then. Who is it from by the way?”

 

The new silence, uninterrupted by any noise, stretches and stretches until Porthos gets a bad feeling. A very bad feeling. Hardly no one sends letters these days. All those who would have his correct home address. Everyone but the people at the orphanage who communicate via calls or text messages. Nobody there would send letters. But someone, an outsider to the institution, someone wealthy, may get a hold on Tréville's business address in the adoption records. Porthos wishes he could be wrong about their identity.

 

“.....Fuck.”

 

As he collapses in his chair, he's glad he's alone in the room. His heart speeds up, there's a cold sweat building on his forehead, goosebumps on his bare arms. He grips the edge of the desk until his knuckles turn white. Breathing in and out, he makes sure that his voice won't shake.

 

“Is it from him?” He has to hear it to believe it.

 

“....yes.”

 

“Why the fuck is he writing? He never bothered before!”

 

Porthos loathes how vulnerable his pathetic excuse of a biological father can make him even after all these years. He never cared about his son when he needed his support the most. Porthos had also made it clear the first and only time they met that he didn't want any contact from someone who seemed to have so little interest in his offspring. Porthos refused the outrageous amount of money countless times as well. For the first few months, he'd send part of it back via his bank only for the transactions to be declined. Money was then the sole thing he would accept from the bastard who abandoned his mother.

 

“It's really better if I see you tonight, Porthos. I'm sorry.”

 

“It isn't your fault. I've got to go. See you later.”

 

Porthos hangs up without waiting for an answer. He cannot do anything any more. His hands are shaking as he puts the phone down. It's too hot in his clothes, too hot underneath his skin. Too bad there's no time to have a panic attack. Porthos believed he was over this, that it was all in the past.

 

As he wipes sweat from his brow, there's also no time to wallow because what's the point in doing this till he gets the mail? He has no idea what he'll do with it. He wants to burn it, rip it in half. Reading what his so-called ftaher has to say sparks no desire. What if he wants to meet again?

 

Head swarming with possible disasters, Porthos feels the news overtaking his mind. As a matter of fact, he barely remembers making his way out of the gym and to the school. There are many mothers and a few fathers waiting for the children. It'd never triggered unpleasant emotions before. Today, everything does.

 

He probably grips Mati's hand a little tighter than usual. Porthos can't focus on what he's being told. Instead he nods, hums, tries to fool the boy and not show how anxious he is. He'd curse, too, but that would most likely be counter-productive.

 

Afternoon snacks and playtime are hazy. Porthos sees himself doing it, doing their routine as they do every day, but he has no recollection of actually doing those actions. He cannot make himself snap out of it. His smiles must be forced, his laughter hollow.

 

He startles when someone rings at the door. Mati looks up at him with wondering eyes. They're sitting on the floor, assembling Legos. Porthos doesn't even remember picking some.

 

“Papá?”

 

“No, buddy. My dad said he'd come to see us.”

 

“Okay.” He goes back to his toys while Porthos stands up, dries his palms on his pants. He must look as desperate and wild as he feels inside because Tréville effectively cringes once he takes a good look at him. Porthos finds himself trapped in a hug in no time. He can't fight it. He doesn't want to. He needs it. It's comforting and safe.

 

Even though he's taller than Tréville, and far sturdier, he turns soft and small in his arms. No matter his age. Tréville would like nothing more but to punch the son of a bitch for destroying his boy so badly.

 

Porthos has no idea how long they stay on the threshold, neither of them speaking or moving. Long enough for Mati to notice that it's unusual. He pads towards them, studies the visitor intently, craning his head doing so.

 

“You've a _ou_ niform,” he marvels.

 

The small voice breaks the moment. Porthos sniffs, despises the sound and dabs his eyes. He hates that even more. He should have punched something at work to let go of all this rage. He has no energy to correct Mati's pronunciation tonight.

 

“I told you he works in the Army. Remember?”

 

Mati nods, can't tear his eyes away from Tréville's chest and the rows of colours on it. He's always worn casual clothes whenever they met in the past. In his distress, Porthos forgets to remind him to say hello. Which he doesn't, until Tréville kneels down and greets the boy first.

 

“Porfos is sad,” Mati supplies, hoping to be helpful, casting quick glances at the adults. The older man smiles but his heart isn't into it. “But I didn't spill _ed_ a lot of milk.”

 

Before he can finish his sentence, Porthos has swept him in his arms, the tiny face on his shoulder and one hand buried in the fair hair.

 

“It's not your fault, Mati. I'm not upset about the milk. You did nothing wrong.”

 

“But you're sad.”

 

“That's why my _dad_ 's here. To make it better.”

 

“I help, too.” Mati turns his head, plants one resounding kiss on Porthos' cheek and _that_ would almost make him cry. That such a small person could understand something wasn't right and would be determined to fix it for him. Porthos loves him so much.

 

He chokes on his chuckle which nearly transforms into a sob.

 

“Why don't you go play by yourself for a while, eh?”

 

Mati looks doubtful, gaze flickering from Tréville to Porthos. To be so little and yet so perceptive. He hugs Porthos' neck tighter before he allows the man to lower him down.

 

“I don't see why you had doubts about him,” Tréville remarks in the kitchen. Porthos rubs at his eyes, retrieves two beers from the fridge.

 

“That was last year.”

 

“You're doing an excellent job, Porthos. Outstanding even. He loves you.” He sounds impressed and so proud that for a split second, Porthos' smile is a genuine one.

 

“Thanks, Dad. I don't want to screw it. I don't want to be...him.” For him, his biological father doesn't deserve to be refered to in another way.

 

Porthos drinks from his beer fast, too fast. His fingers tremble on the bottle and there's no point sitting down. His legs wouldn't stop bouncing.

 

“You could never be, Porthos. You're different. But....here.”

 

He fetches a bent envelope from his pocket. It's been opened. Porthos flat-hand refuses to grab it. He even takes a step back.

 

“Did you read it?” It might spare him the ordeal of doing so.

 

“It's my name on it. I stopped once I realized it was intended for you.”

 

“But did you?”

 

“Some of it, yes. You should read it, too, Porthos,” he adds, because watching his son fidget, unable to settle, it's unbearable. Porthos takes shallow breaths, resolute to avoid looking at the table and the envelope and yet it's like he's drawn to it.

 

Some people can be such assholes, Tréville thinks. Tormenting others, people who had managed to work past issues only to be crushed under them all over again.

 

“What does he want? He doesn't want to see me, does he? Because that's not gonna happen.”

 

“You should read it,” his father repeats. He doesn't want to give anything away. Even if it might hurt Porthos, he has to do it himself. Not on his own, though.

 

“I can stay while you do, if you wish.”

 

Porthos snorts, takes another sip to realize that he's already finished the drink. His father hasn't touched his. He's such a mess. A piece of paper does this to him. He should just put it in the trash. Porthos isn't ready to open old wounds which have been ripped apart already. They're raw on his heart.

 

“I don't know if I will. Thanks, Dad.”

 

He can't say it enough. He can't get enough reassurance that the man with him is the one who gets to be called like this. It's taken Porthos a long time to accept Tréville, to accept who he could be in his life, to acknowledge the void he could fill. No grown man should shatter because of a simple letter. He should be stronger.

 

That's why he welcomes the hug, and how Tréville doesn't say anything, doesn't push him, lets him make his own decision. No matter what he may believe.

 

Mati is quiet for about two minutes after their visitor is gone. Up until Porhtos collapses on the couch, hunched forward, elbows on the coffee table and face in his hands. The boy doesn't understand much as he climbs next to his stepfather, presses close. Porthos can feel the warmth of the tiny body by his side, the soft breathing and the fingers tugging at his arm.

 

“I read you a story.”

 

The fact that he can at most make out some very well-known words is irrelevant.

 

Porthos straightens up to sag against the back of the couch, Mati buried under his arm, the book lying open on his lap. The gibberish which makes up the tale is surprinsingly soothing. Mati has had good teachers and tries to change tones depending on the characters. He points at details on the pages so that his audience can follow.

 

When Aramis comes back, they're playing with toy animals, but they haven't moved from their position on the couch. Porthos' lap has turned into a farm. One look at the clock and it downs on him that he's completely forgotten to cook dinner. He's such a failure.

 

On the other hand, he cannot help but marvel at how the mere sight of his boyfriend (a term he is starting to dislike the further they move into their relationship) calms him. More than being distracted by Mati. He may be able to get through it this time. As long as Aramis is by his side.

 

“Porfos is sad,” Mati explains after he's been kissed hello by his father. Aramis can tell. There are so many clues, in spite of the attempt at a sunny smile on the lips he kisses. There's also a shaky sigh. “His dad was here to make it better. And I read _ed_ a story.”

 

“Yeah. You've been great, Mati.”

 

“What's wrong?”

 

Porthos feels that if he starts talking, he will definitely burst out crying. Which is a shame and he doesn't want to do so in front of the boy.

 

“We haven't watched Dora tonight,” he says instead. It gets the attention of Mati who happily settles in front of the TV while the adults retreat to the kitchen.

 

“I haven't started dinner either,” Porthos apologizes, eyes locked on the untouched envelope. Aramis frowns, studies him closely. He's never seen his boyfriend like this, lost and desperate. He's witnessed him being insecure before and this he could deal with. The Porthos in front of him unnerves him.

 

“What's happened? Is someone hurt? Did Mati...”

 

“He's been fantastic. It's just....this came at my dad's office today.” He waves towards the table. “It's from... my bio father.”

 

Aramis steps forward then, grips trembling hands and threads their fingers together. He's standing right there, eyes worried yet face softening. Porthos anchors himself on it.

 

“I thought you weren't keeping in touch with him.”

 

“I'm not. I've no idea why he wrote.”

 

“What did he say?” Porthos shrugs.

 

“I don't know. I haven't read it. I can't,” he admits, chewing on his lip. Aramis is flushed against him, arms wrapped around his neck, dragging him impossibly down in his embrace. It's quiet and peaceful and it helps Porthos breathe more evenly. He keeps his eyes shut tight to prevent tears from spilling out. He can feel them behind his eyelids.

 

“It's okay, Porthos. I'm here. It's okay. I've got you.”

 

“I hate him....I think. I hate the effect he has on me. I hate him.”

 

Aramis holds on to the shaking body and doesn't comment on the few tears sliding down his neck. He's never met the man, doesn't want to, but still hates the fucker for messing with Porthos' well-being. Aramis drops a kiss on top of the other's head, then a second and a third. He rubs his back, lets the chirpy music, Dora's annoying voice and Mati's contribution to the cartoon fill the silence.

 

“I'll take care of dinner,” Aramis decides. “Don't worry. I can take care of Mati by myself, too. If you need to be alone for a while.”

 

Porthos shakes his head.

 

“Should I read it?” He sounds so vulnerable.

 

“Do you want to?”

 

“I want to never see it again. I don't want to know what he wants. But he sent it. He wouldn't do so without a good reason.”

 

“Then perhaps you should. To be done with it.”

 

Porthos breathes out, nods, grabs Aramis' shirt with both hands and never wants to let go. He feels somewhat safe here.

 

“You can go now, if you need to.”

 

“I have to help you.” Porthos won't let the unexpected event mess with their routine. They've worked hard to achieve their good balance.

 

“You have to care for yourself first, sweetie. That's the most important right now. I'll handle Mati.”

 

Porthos raises his head, raises an eyebrow.

 

“You called me sweetie.” They've never used terms of endearement for one another, especially not cute ones. Aramis only uses it to address his son. It makes him smile to realize he's used it on instinct since Porthos looked so distressed that it felt like he was comforting a young boy.

 

Putting both hands on Porthos' face, framing it, Aramis pulls it close to his until he can feel Porthos' breaths on his cheeks.

 

“Are you complaining?” he asks softly, almost in a whisper. Porthos sighs against his lips, in the tenderness of the kiss. Aramis doesn't push; he's all gentleness and love.

 

“I love you,” Porthos answers instead. Even though he means these words tonight more than ever, it doesn't convey the depths of his feelings. Aramis is such a pillar in his turmoil that as Porthos steps away, he wobbles on his legs, almost loses his balance.

 

The envelope burns in his hand and with a final thankful glance, he lets go of Aramis' fingers to disappear in their bedroom. The piece of paper can't be held still and he actually tears a hole in it after gripping it too tightly. The message isn't long, a mere page. Beautiful and clear handwriting in spite of the coldness of the words. Some sentences seem forced whereas others are clearly detached as if written because they had to be and not because they were truly meant.

 

Or Porthos may be looking too much into it. The paper is drenched in tears when he's done. Angry tears. Mati mistook rage for sadness even though there might be some of it as well.

 

Porthos closes his eyes, listens to the domestic sounds coming to him from the appartment: Mati's cheerful voice and then the table being set. And dinner. He's not hungry. He couldn't eat anything. His stomach is in knots. He has a headache.

 

So instead, Porthos lies down, lets Mati's tale of what he did today relax him, as well as Aramis' deep laughter.

 

Perhaps he dozes off, perhaps his mind is churning with what he read, with the decisions he has to make and doesn't want to. Either way, there's a knock on the door after a while. Porthos blinks in the sudden bright light. Aramis is hesitating on the doorstep, a small head peaking out between his legs.

 

“Mati would like to do bedtime here with you. If that's all right.”

 

Porthos cannot think of anything more comfortable so he sits up, welcomes the tiny pj-clad body which nestles itself in his lap. Aramis puts a cold sandwich on the bedside table. His boyfriend loves him more for it, and for the kind eyes, and for the blanket being drawn on him and his charge, and for the head on his shoulder and Aramis' hand petting his hair.

 

“Why are you sad, Porfos?” Mati asks bluntly. The little tired eyes show such honesty and care but Porthos isn't sure his lifestory would be the best thing to hear to fall asleep. It's depressing. On the other hand, Mati is a smart child. He hasn't had a normal childhood so far either. Besides, Porthos doesn't want to lie. Telling it all doesn't sound too appealing. Not when it could make him cry.

 

“Why don't we let Papá tell you? He knows the story.” _Please_ , he mouths to Aramis who raises his head, more than surprised. One kiss on his cheek shows his agreement.

 

“In Spanish?” he requests after. “I like it when you speak Spanish.” Porthos might not understand it all that way. It'll be easier to bear.

 

Aramis isn't certain he can do Porthos justice. He isn't even certain it's a good idea, given the depth and intricacy of Porthos' early life. However, it's clear that he won't contradict his boyfriend tonight. Not when he looks conflicted and in such pain. He'll use simple words, embellish some of the best characters. Fleat turns into a proper lady at one point.

 

His audience is quiet even if he can feel Porthos' shoulder sag with each breath he takes. Mati doesn't fall asleep, listens carefully. He doesn't ask a single question until his father stops talking.

 

“ _Porfos has two dads?”_

 

“No,” Porthos cuts in before Aramis can attempt to explain. “A dad is someone who loves you, who takes care of you. Someone who is there for you when you're sick or sad. Someone who plays with you.”

 

“Like Papá.”

 

“Like Papá, yes. Tréville's my dad because he's all of these things. The other man, he's nothing to me. He only created me. That's not enough.”

 

“Papá created me, too!” Mati exclaims. “After they break _ed_ his foot!” Aramis chuckles and Porthos can't help but follow suit.

 

“But Papá didn't leave afterwards. Papá's here.”

 

“I'm here, too! And I like you, Porfos.”

 

His father smoothes the blond curls. Mati may not have understood it all, he's gotten the most important: that Porthos deserves love, that he is an exceptional person to be cherished for ever.

 

For once, and that's also a day to remember because of this, Mati hardly makes a fuss to go to his own bed for the night. Porthos' cheek still tingles from the loud kiss he's been given and his neck is still warm from the arms which wrapped around it while they all hugged. He's no idea how he would have coped without the both of them tonight. They are godsends.

 

He fumbles with the sliced bread of his sandwich, eats small pieces of ham. They taste bland and feel like pebbles dropping in his stomach.

 

“It's good, I swear. I made it with love,” Aramis jokes when he's back and all the lights are off except for the one on the bedside table.

 

“I know you did. Come here.”

 

Aramis comes happily, climbs on the bed slowly. With Mati out of the way, he can resume being worried for his boyfriend. He straddles Porthos' lap to sit as close as he can. He frames the other's face with his hands and looks into his eyes.

 

“So?” he hazards. Porthos growls, casts a glance at the crumpled piece of paper on the floor.

 

“He wants to see me. Because he's dying.”

 

Aramis sucks in a breath, doesn't try to conceal his surprise. Porthos didn't either.

 

“Or so he says.” Porthos sounds suspicious.

 

“What other reason would he have to ask for a meeting? I mean, lying like that would be a shitty move. I'm not trying to defend him...”

 

“I know that. And you're right. I don't know. I guess I want him to be lying. To have something else to hate him for.”

 

Aramis keeps on hugging him, wishing he could cleanse him of all the tension he can sense as he traces hard muscles with his fingertips.

 

“I don't even know if I care. If it turns out to be true,” Porthos confesses, not in the least guilty. The bastard didn't care about his mother dying. Why should it be different for him?

 

“Does it make me a horrible person?”

 

“No, Porthos. I can't tell you how to feel or react but after what you've been through, you're entitled to such emotions.”

 

“I don't know what to do,” Porthos whispers. Aramis has pressed impossibly closer, his weight resting on Porthos' lap, against his chest.

 

“I'm amazed you're still up and able to talk about it. You're exhausted, sweetie.” He says it on purpose. Porthos does grin in turn, nuzzles the side of Aramis' neck.

 

“I like that.”

 

“No one expects you to be such a formidable and unbreakable rock.”

“I've done my fair share of breaking tonight,” Porthos admits.

 

“True. Which is why you should get into bed and try to rest. I'm not saying you should sleep,” Aramis adds before he can be interrupted. “Rest. Let me hold you and talk. Or just cuddle. Anything to help.”

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you, too. So does Mati.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“All the people who matter do. You've been a gift to me, Porthos. Sweetie. You've brought so much joy and laughter and silliness and sunshine and I won't let anyone ruin you. No one has the right to. I don't care who they are.”

 

There's such fierceness in his voice that Porthos pulls him in closer, thanks the lips which just uttered the praising by kissing them.

 

Aramis falls asleep far sooner than his boyfriend does that night. Porthos wakes up with a headache, his mind not clearer than before and still no idea how to proceed.

 


	4. December (Part I)

On Wednesdays, Aramis only works in the morning. He makes up for it by working an extra hour all the other days of the week. School finishes at noon on Wednesdays and he wasn't going to ask Porthos to care for Mati at the gym on that day every week when he stays with them. His boyfriend is so incredible already, picking the boy up in the afternoons and keeping him at work during school breaks. It amazes Aramis a little.

 

He's forced so much on Porthos as it is, made big changes in his comfortable life. To move from being single to having a child in less than two years would be enough to make most people run away. Except that Porthos isn't most men. Aramis can hardly stop saying how thankful he is. He loves watching him and the child have a lot of fun together. They've all found their place in their new life. Four months after Anne and their son moved to Paris, Aramis begins to finally relax in it.

 

Mati was not even two when his father moved to another country. For three years, Aramis cannot remember spending more than three weeks in a row with his son. Many months spent apart which didn't lessen their mutual affection, perhaps strenghtened it. Even if he knows that and can be authoritative, strict and intransigent whenever it's necessary, there was always the overpowering urge to spoil the boy. Not to buy his love because this wasn't needed. But to fill the void with toys and sugar and hours spent just the two of us (or with Anne).

 

This has been toned down since Aramis is aware their previous situation will likely never be re-implemented. Or so he hopes. When he says goodbye on Sunday nights, he _knows_ it's only for a week. It makes him feel less on edge on a daily basis. As if his heart and mind were at peace to know that even though they're not together, Mati is nevertheless somewhere in the big city. That he could reach him in a heartbeat if the need should arise.

 

Aramis hasn't often felt that good in years. Not since Anne announced her pregnancy. This isn't how he would have pictured his life when he was younger, but it seems just right now. Small pieces of people he loves fitting together better than he would have expected.

 

They don't see Anne a lot, though, apart from when they collect Mati. They're trying to show the boy that even if his parents are friends, they have two separate lives. Sure, Aramis would like to see her more but it's difficult with their busy schedules. Mati takes up so much of his father's energy. In his excitement, Aramis forgot that his son wasn't a fan of sleeping in. Besides, having his father available on a regular basis thrills Mati. It has lessened a little now that he is growing used to seeing him a lot. But for the first few weeks, Aramis could barely do anything without Mati begging to play or to be held.

 

Porthos found it extremely funny to witness. Not jealous at all. His boyfriend is always willing to claim his arms and his lips as soon as Mati is so much as out of the room for a second. They've had more lengthy and meaningful conversations this fall than they've had in the year beforehand. The fact that they fall asleep before finishing them is irrelevant. What matters is snuggling, or cuddling on the couch with wine and the TV set low to avoid waking up the young boy.

 

It's as domestic as it can be and Aramis wonders how it could get better. When he has time he also worries that a lot of tiny mistakes could upset the balance and ruin everything, destroy his relationship. Which is why he strives to love Porthos deeply and completely. To cherish the man whose world was turned upside down because he happened to stumble upon a half naked Aramis who was modeling for his best friend.

 

In spite of his ardent desire to show Porthos how important he is to him, to reassure him that he's never felt that good with anybody else, Aramis adores his Wednesday afternoons with Mati. They're by themselves, doing anything that the boy might enjoy.

 

Today's the first of December so of course, after school, after lunch and after a much welcome nap, they bundle up and set out to admire Christmas decorations, and to buy the expected Advent calendar. For Aramis, it's all new as well. He's never had the chance to do so with his son before. Spending time just the two of them out in the streets, without Anne or his parents. It's a novelty. He likes to think he's handling being a full-time parent wonderfully well.

 

People sell waffles overflowing with Nutella and whipped cream in a nearby park they sometimes play in when the weather is nice. From the depths of his scarf, his winter coat and the hat with blond curls sticking out from underneath it, Mati _demands_ a treat, sulks loudly when he is denied. The excuse that they've just had lunch doesn't seem valid to him. Anne would be so proud of Aramis.

 

“How about we buy ingredients to make Christmas cookies at home instead?”

 

Mati raises his head, eyes full of hope and slowly replacing his disappointment.

 

“With colors?”

 

“Sure, why not.”

 

“And we can draw on them?”

 

“Ah....sure,” Aramis hesitates as the realization of what his son expects downs on him. It'll be messy. Yet, Mati loves baking, especially if he gets to be his father's second. The grin widens on the small face and how could you say no to such cuteness?

 

“Cookies!” he exclaims, clapping gloved hands.

 

“And we'll make some with white chocolate because they are Porthos' favorite,” Aramis decides. The child nods eagerly, delighted by the prospective future.

 

* * *

 

“Papá?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Porfos is still sad?” Mati asks after they've gone grocery shopping, have found all the required supplies and the Kinder Advent calendar. Aramis loaded his basket with the junk food his boyfriend craves, hoping that it'll make him feel somehow slightly better.

 

It's been two days since he received that dreadful letter from his biological father. It's shaken him to the core. Aramis is aware that the other is sometimes insecure when it comes to feelings and close relationships. He's experienced the consequences first-hand. And yet, he would never have imagined that Porthos' strength, courage and valiance could be shattered so totally. It hurts to see Porthos hurting that badly. It hurts to not be able to do more than hold him and whisper praises. It's already a lot, his boyfriend assured him only this morning.

 

There are decisions that he can only make by himself, though. Porthos is certain he doesn't want to grant that man his last wish for a meeting. He's been through hell because of him and he thought all of this was behind him. He cannot sleep because of it, cannot help thinking that the letter shouldn't have pained him that much if it truly belonged in the past. Porthos is confused and he hates it. He hates the man, but he also hates himself for being vulnerable.

 

Unfortunately, Aramis cannot take the decision for him, refuses to influence him. As much as he loathes admitting it, he hasn't known Porthos long enough to be the best person to turn to as far as making _this_ choice is concerned. He's never known his boyfriend in conflict with his life, or his status as an orphan, as a newly adopted boy. Aramis knows Porthos as someone who has a stable life.

 

He keeps on repeating that he'll support his boyfriend no matter what, that he won't argue with his decision. It's not his place. He may despise the man who abandoned Porthos and his mother, Aramis won't resort to insulting him either. Not out loud. Even if he doubts that Porthos would mind. He's been doing his fair share of cursing when Mati wasn't within earshot.

 

Athos is meeting with him today. They've been friends for nearly 20 years. Aramis does believe that whatever advice he can give Porthos will be more useful. Besides, his boyfriend needs to vent to somebody else withoug being interrupted by a five-year old. He'll probably come home later than usual, thus leaving them plenty of time to bake and ice cookies to perfection.

 

“I'm afraid Porthos is still sad, yes,” Aramis replies to Mati's question. His comforting smile meets inquiring eyes. The child is confused. Being sad for days doesn't make sense to him. He trips on his own foot, looking up at his father rather than to where he's going.

 

“It's because of his father. The one who forgot about Porthos and his mom. Do you remember?” Mati nods, then seems to come up with a brilliant idea.

 

“If he remembers Porfos, then Porfos won't be sad anymore!”

 

“He forgot on purpose. Like I told you in the story on Monday.” Mati ponders this.

 

“Oh, yes. Bad. Not nice dad.”

 

“Which is why he doesn't get to be called like that. Tréville is Porthos' dad.”

 

“He has a _ou_ niform.”

 

“Uniform.”

 

“Uniform! With colors!”

 

“Absolutely.” Despite the gravity of the topic, his son's antics are precious and he squeezes his hand tighter. “So we're going to bake splendid cookies to make Porthos happy. Agreed?”

 

“Yes!” And Mati goes on listing what he'll do with the new cookie cutters his father just bought. Aramis never said he'd stop spoiling the child altogether.

 

* * *

 

Christmas carols are filling the appartment once Porthos finally comes back home, exhausted and as confused as ever. He should have expected the cheesy music and is grateful Aramis hasn't been subjected to putting the Christmas tree up yet. Mati and his father equally love the festive spirit; Porthos was looking forward to it, too. He isn't sure of anything anymore.

 

It's dark outside but bright everywhere inside. There are shrills and squeals coming from the kitchen, giggles and laughter so that's where he strides, basking for a few seconds in the comfort the scene brings him.

 

Mati is kneeling on a chair, cookies all over the table, flour in his hair and fingers blue and red. He looks flushed, tongue sticking out, squirming on his spot, obviously determined to do a good job. However, the pastry bag appears sticky and a bit oversized for his hands. Thank God for the paper towel covering the table. The boy drops more icing there than on the sweet treats.

 

Aramis seems far more successful, sitting by his son's side, rows of perfect snowmen and snowflakes lined to dry out. From what Porthos understands, they are competing to see who can finish the most cookies in as little time as possible. There is a large green streak smeared on his boyfriend's cheek. Aramis' hair is tied tight in a ponytail.

 

Porthos' heart loves it all, softens and embraces the awesomeness of what he is able to witness.

 

There's a pile of broken cookie bits at the edge of the table. It's too inviting for him to ignore it.

 

“We're making cookies!” Mati shouts when they realize they're being watched. Porthos pops tiny pieces in his mouth. Butter, sugar, cinnamon.

 

Aramis' smile is all genuine care and happiness to see him, even if he doesn't move from his chair to keep a watchful eye on the child.

 

“Yummy. What's the occasion?”

 

“To make you happy!” Mati exclaims as he throws his arms in the air. Suddenly, laughter bubbles up deep inside Porthos, fills his guts and his heart, makes him warm, makes his body tingle with joy from toes to fingertips. Because the boy somehow forgot about the pastry bag and a giant spot in Aramis' hair is now covered in red goo.

 

“Mati!” Aramis sounds outraged, yet he cannot help but laugh as well. Especially when Porthos' eyes light up. If it takes silliness to make him forget his pain, he'll happily oblige.

 

Mati pouts and cringes adoribly, mouth open in stupor at what he's done. He isn't sure what his next move should be. In between Porthos' booming laughter and his father's half-hearted complaint that he'll have to cut his hair (Aramis can be so dramatic for the sake of playing pranks) because it'll never come out, Mati hesitates. Until he shrieks and plops down on the chair. Aramis has stuck two fingers in the leftover icing bowl and has wiped them on the little boy's forehead.

 

“Papá!” And then: “Porfos!”

 

“You started it, buddy. You both look very handsome, by the way.”

 

Aramis stands up to give him a quick thank you kiss while the child takes this opportunity to lick his fingers clean. Since Aramis doesn't want to stain his boyfriend's clothes, Porthos is the one who drags him in for a hug. As fast as the kiss but just as meaningful. They rarely have luxury to do more when Mati is around.

 

“I think a bath is overdue, sweetie.”

 

Mati squeals and literally races to the bathroom. He couldn't agree more. The bathtub is big and there is bubble bath and he has so many toys to play with. Most of his clothes are off by the time Aramis arrives to turn the water on. He refuses to leave the child unsupervised with so much water because tragedies happen faster than you'd imagine. That's how he ends up leaning against the doorframe, Mati focused on making up stories and Porthos' arms sneaking around his waist, his chest hot when Aramis reclines against it.

 

“How are you?” he asks quietly after a long stretch of comfortable silence. They've turned the music off. Porthos sighs, buries his head on the other's shoulder, beard tickling the skin. Minutes drags on before he comes up with a decent answer.

 

“It was good. Talking to Athos. I mean, I guess I did the talking and he did the listening. And the drinking.” Porthos chuckles, but Aramis can nonetheless breathe hints of whisky, which he doesn't comment upon.

 

“He also believes he's a S.O.B. for writing. And as far as he's concerned, he wouldn't go see him. No matter the reason.”

 

Athos is a bitter man when it comes to betrayal and love so his answer was no surprise for his best friend. Porthos was relieved to have a discussion with him, though. They are so different, which makes their friendship all the better. They've always been each other's support through hard times. Athos' acknowledgement that he shouldn't agree to the meeting should have been a reassurance.

 

However, Porthos doesn't feel reassured at all and it bothers him. He's no idea why. His emotions are all over the place. He's a mess.

 

Aramis threads their fingers together, rubs the back of Porthos' hand with his thumb once his boyfriend confesses that in the end, the last couple of hours didn't help him make a decision. He still feels lost.

 

“But he said he'd come with me, if I wanted, should I decide to go see him. If I ever do. To be honest, I'd rather go with you, Aramis.”

 

What they're saying is covered by enthusiastic shouts and the sound of water splashing. Aramis' lips nonetheless turn into a pleased smile at the admission. To be favored over a best friend, he had certainly hoped for it and it makes him even more resolute to always have Porthos' back.

 

It seems only natural to Porthos. Who else would he trust enough? Who else would he be comfortable enough with if he were to fall apart? Granted, many of his close friends fit this description. Except they aren't Aramis and Aramis has become the cornerstone of Porthos' life. It's both terrifying and exhilirating to rely on someone else that much. Porthos trusts that his boyfriend will never let him down. Not in that sense.

 

The mere thought of him has calming effects. Holding him in his arms puts Porthos in a blissful state.

 

“If you decide that you want to see him, I'll be by your side. Of course I'll be there. Every step of the way. Even if you choose not to.”

 

Porthos kisses his cheek to encounter the drying and overly sweet icing on it.

 

“You baked cookies for me?” He sounds astonished.

 

“We did. With white chocolate.”

 

Porthos hums, gives him another kiss, licking the green goo with the tip of his tongue. Aramis startles, then shivers at the lips touching his ear.

 

“I suggest that later, we take a bath of our own to clean your pretty face.”

 

“You hardly need a bath for that.”

 

One glance at the bathtub to check that Mati is oblivious to their discussion and one of Porthos' hands moves lower to rest on top of Aramis' belt. Fingers splayed, hot even through the denim of the jeans. Aramis breathes out.

 

“I'm sure we'll find some more dirty spots to wash,” Porthos whispers. “It would help. Perhaps more than the cookies.”

 

“As long as the cookies are on top of the list. Along with dinner. Did I mention we're ordering from that Korean restaurant you're crazy about?”

 

“Did I mention that I love you?”

 

With two fingers on Aramis' chin, he turns the other's head so he can kiss him properly. Aramis is giving him so much: moral support and endless proof of his love. Everything he's been doing has been solely dedicated to helping Porthos and it mends some of his wounds. It settles his mind, at least for a while.

 

* * *

 

The busy streets and people milling about in the freezing rain, cars and coaches honking: they are also effective distractions the following day. Porthos adores his city, wouldn't live anywhere else because he knows it inside out and yet there is so much to discover all the time. Touristic spots he tends to stray from on weekends. It nonetheless baffles him that there are so many people visiting, even when it's cold and the weather is depressing.

 

He hurries in the street, avoiding people stopping anywhere to take pictures and students. Anne's museum is close to a prestigious university and as he shakes the rain inside, Porthos actually wonders if he's ever been in it before. They should ask her for a private tour.

 

It's not their goal for the short time they have together: quick lunch because they do need to eat, and then some Christmas shopping for their boys.

 

Anne looks esctatic to be out in town with Porthos, looking at Christmassy shop windows, her blond hair curling underneath her umbrella, her shopping list in hand and the best company she could ask for. She'd never admit it to Aramis because he would beat himself up for it, but she's been having a hard time adapting to her new life. Not having her son with her every morning and every evening is more difficult than she'd presumed. For three years, she's lived and breathed only for him.

 

Moving to Paris means more free time, weeks where she can think about herself for a change. She appreciated the quiet for the first few days. Perhaps the first month. It's puzzling though. To be able to go out whenever she wants, to not have to feel guilty if she requires a babysitter (not that she's ever quite needed one). So many opportunities that it overwhelms her.

 

Aramis has been nagging her about dating now that he's here to relieve her of Mati. He's been urging her to enjoy her life, to have fun because she's young and she deserves it. It terrifies her a little.

 

But it's December, it's Christmas and she loves this time of the year. That's why she'll bury these sad feelings for a while.

 

“How's my baby?” She ignores Porthos' question about her well-being and directs him to another topic.

 

“Oh, he's great. They baked cookies yesterday. These are for you, by the way,” he adds, retrieving the plastic bag from his pocket. Her smile is brighter as she takes in the goods.

 

They are almost all eaten when they're done browsing for clothes. Porthos was aware that Aramis had a terrific fashion sense but it seems that Anne also knows what he fancies. Shopping with her is better than doing it on his own. Besides, Porthos has grown to tremendously appreciate the woman. He wishes they could spend more time with her even though he understands the need to show Mati that they cannot always be the four of them together.

 

His hands monopolized by bags, Porthos follows Anne who seems on a mission to find the toys Mati put on his list to Santa. They've all made one this year and Porthos could barely contain his excitement at being given the chance to do such a thing. He loves it.

 

They're having two Christmas this year: one in Paris and one in Spain. Incidentally, it means double the amount of presents and the need for more ideas to at least surprise the boy and gift him unexpected things.

 

Their conversation is easy, as they stick to familiar topics. Mati and how Porthos' gym is improving, recent movies and Mati's school. Her son is her favorite subject to discuss, which also explains why she may have trouble meeting new people.

 

The way her eyes sparkle or how kind her smile is whenever they talk about him bewilders Porthos. She's the embodiment of a caring and loving mother. His mom must have been the same. He hopes. Unfortunately, his memories of her are scarce and hazy. What wouldn't he give to see her again. Damn his biological father for bringing those feelings to the fore.

 

As if on cue, his phone rings while they exit the last shop on Anne's list. Porthos juggles with his bags to grab the device and it's not surprising to notice that it's his dad calling. He called on Tuesday and also yesterday. Porthos is thankful for the daily check-up. He needs it.

 

“I'm a bit busy right now, Dad,” he nonetheless explains after his greetings. Tréville can hear street noises in the background.

 

“I'm sorry. But it's important.” He sounds upset, almost as much as he was on Monday so it makes Porthos' heart drop once again. It's useless to try to hide his confusion from Anne. It'll only tire him further.

 

“Have you made a decision?” Tréville asks bluntly. Porthos frowns. The question isn't welcome. No matter who is asking it. He doesn't like to be rushed.

 

“Not yet.”

 

“Well, because guess what? He _called_ today. Here. Asking if you received his letter as if it was the most natural thing in the world.”

 

“He called? What the fuck? Can't he just leave me the fuck alone?” Porthos shouts a bit too loud and Anne starts by his side.

 

All of Porthos' anger resurfaces, to hear the annoyance in his dad's voice. He hates how persistent and stubborn the other man is.

 

“Did you...did you give him my number?”

 

“Of course not. I'd never do that, Porthos.”

 

Tréville has been protecting him from that bastard for years. It's not fair for him to be the messenger. Porthos will have so much to apologize for when this drama will be behind them. At this rate, though, he doesn't know when this will be.

 

“He did sound weak and rather sick. He told me to ask you to please think about it.”

 

Porthos snorts, loathes that he's actually still considering agreeing to the meeting, how ever strongly he is stating the opposite.

 

“He _told_ you? Jesus, who does he think you are? God, fuck him.”

 

“I know. I'm sorry, Porthos.”

 

“It'll never be your fault if he's pathetic. Don't worry. Thank you for calling.”

 

“What's wrong, Porthos?” Anne has to inquire after he's hung up. He's rubbing at his eyes, clutching the phone in his hand, fists balled. Eyes so menacing for a split second when he stares at her before they soften to show how fragile he is.

 

The good spirit he'd built since lunch fades in an instant as he curses out loud. He feels drained all of a sudden, no energy left to continue shopping or really do anything demanding anymore. The cosy coffee shop Anne leads him to when it's become clear that she was slowly losing him to inner demons is warm and colorful. It's crowded and half of their table is taken up by their purchases.

 

Porthos stares at his hot chocoltate while he tells her what's happened: the letter and the subsequent horrifying feelings, how desperate and lost he is, then today's phonecall and the reason why his biological father has reached out to him. Anne sits next to him because that's obviously what he needs, and her hand looks so small as she holds on to the large and rough fingers.

 

“I said meeting him was out of the question. I've suffered enough because of him. But then his assh...he called. I just don't know.”

 

She's a good listener and the way she doesn't hesitate before voicing her opinion says a lot about the state of their relationship.

 

“What if he's truly sick and wants to make peace with his past?”

 

Porthos rolls his eyes, almost apologizes but she shakes her head, all gentle eyes.

 

“The thing is, I don't want to. I don't want to forgive him so he can die peacefully. He's made my life hell.”

 

“I never said you should forgive him, Porthos. That's your decision to make. But you do look horrible. Maybe it would be beneficial for you, too, to meet with him. Do you want to spend the rest of your life going over what could have been said and never knowing?”

 

“Closure, you mean? I thought that was what I was getting last time.” Clearly not. He sips on his drink, accepts the last cookie Anne hands him.

 

“My parents are meeting Aramis for the first time over Christmas break,” she starts, diverting the conversation a little. “They'll likely never forgive him for making me break up with Louis, but it has to be done. They resent me for it and yet, in the great scheme of things, it can only improve our life. Otherwise it'll keep on festering and will never heal.”

 

It feels like Porthos is listening to a mother and not a friend. The fact that she is younger than he is doesn't matter either. He has the overwhelming urge to bury himself in her arms. Her voice is soft and steady even though he is hearing things he doesn't want to. Things neither Aramis nor Athos have told him.

 

“It'll hurt, I suppose,” she continues. “You're hurting right now. So what if all this pain could turn into something even more beautiful? What if saying goodbye for real could actually mean leaving all of this behind?”

 

Porthos hates breaking down like this in public, her words hammering at the wall he'd built around the possibility of a meeting until it shows itself and becomes the obvious outcome. He despises the lone tear sliding down his cheek. As he makes to wipe it away before anyone sees it, he finds himself trapped in small yet powerful arms.

 

“Is that okay?” Anne asks, lips muffled on his chest. Porthos simply nods.

 

“What this man did is unforgivable, Porthos. No one should have to grow up like you did. But you can't allow the past and his mistakes to destroy you. Screw him.”

 

It's probably the first time he's heard her swear, which loosens the heavy tension. Porthos laughs amidst his sobs and Anne doesn't let him go until his eyes are dry.

 

“This can stay between the two of us, if you want,” she mentions quietly.

 

“Thank you.” Porthos chuckles as she all but force feeds him some banana cream pie. He misses his mother.

 

“You could go this weekend,” she suggests. “To be done with it.”

 

“Mati will still be with us. It's not a good idea to bring him along.”

 

“I'll take him one day early. That's not a problem.”

 

“Don't you already have plans?” Admitting that she hardly ever has any even on Saturday nights would shame her in any other circumstances. Not today. She finds another purpose in caring for that big man.

 

* * *

 

“I've made a decision,” Porthos states later that night. He's waited for Mati to be in bed. He's weary of his burden, emotions tangled up, and he can't start regretting or second-guessing it. Aramis freezes while taking off his clothes to glance at him. Porthos is sitting on the edge of the bed, pjs in hands.

 

“I have to see him.” Aramis comes to sit next to him then, half naked and pants open.

 

“Okay,” is all he says. His touch settles his boyfriend's heart. His endless support as well. It was the decision Aramis was hoping for anyway.

 

“I'd like to go on Saturday, if that's all right with you.”

 

“Well, there's Mati...” He hates to have to say no to Porthos as he churns his mind looking for solutions. “I'm not sure taking him...”

 

“Anne said he could go back with her.”

 

“Anne?” Aramis cocks his head, surprised by the addition to the conversation.

 

“I saw her today. We went Christmas shopping,” he confesses. There's no point in keeping it a surprise. Aramis frowns a little before he smiles. Why should he be upset if they are developing a relationship of their own? And December and birthdays are the only acceptable times to do things behind his back.

 

“Did you buy me nice stuff?”

 

“You'll have to wait and see.” Porthos sighs against the pouting lips and breathes in Aramis' low and whispered thank you. More follow, about how proud of Porthos he is, how brave he is. How amazing.

 

All that he refrained from saying pours out now, an echo of his exchange with Anne in the afternoon. Except that she didn't drowned it in kisses and caresses. Or lay Porthos down on the bed, gently and carefully. Nor did she undress him and made all thoughts of his so-called father vanish for passionate minutes.

 


	5. December (Part II)

The change in the schedule hardly bothers Mati. What is one more day with his mother ? Why should he be upset that he has to say goodbye to his father on a Saturday rather than on a Sunday? He'll see him soon and besides, the plan is to go out in the late afternoon to admire Christmas lights. The boy is excited.

 

It's such a wild contrast from how their parting used to be. Hearts clenching, endless wails and shouts that he didn't want to see Aramis go. Everything has changed now. It's Anne who seems oddly pleased by the slight adjustement for the weekend. Not that she is happy as to why Mati is coming back to her early.

 

For the short few minutes she saw Porthos in the morning, he didn't look as sad he did two days beforehand. He can't afford to hesitate anymore, even if with each passing minute, he wishes he hadn't agreed to the meeting with his biological father. The night was short so he hopes after today, this part of his life will be over and done with. He wants to look at the future and be able to concentrate on his family without having to worry about someone who abandoned him.

 

What they will talk about is still obscure. Porthos has absolutely nothing nice to say, no sympathy to offer. He's been having a constant headache ever since he took the decision to go to the countryside. Aramis frowns whenever the other gulps down painkillers as if they were candy. Then Porthos snaps that his boyfriend used to smoke and he never criticized him for it. Half of their previous night was miserable because of the tension.

 

Porthos is on edge, can't keep his emotions at bay and attacks literally everyone who doesn't agree with him. On anything. He feels miserable.

 

The decent weather does little to improve his mood. It's sunny in spite of the cold and the wind. From inside the car, forehead pressed to the door, his face grows warm. If he closes his eyes, Porthos can forget about the suburbs on either side of the highway, about the other cars racing by. It's not enough to forget where they are heading, what awaits him at their destination. Breakfast was out of the question. The mere thought makes him want to throw up.

 

Why is he doing this?

 

It's for the greater good. Anne was correct, so is Aramis who apparently had the same opinion but was too adamant not to influence Porthos to state it out loud. Perhaps he should have. Even if he had, what would it have changed?

 

Porthos rubs his temples, tries to focus on the classical music on the radio, the soothing rhythm of the violins and the harps. He's successful for a while.

 

“Talk to me?” he asks once the music changes to a woman singing and it doesn't suit his taste. Aramis has been too quiet from the moment they left Paris. These roads are an urban jungle, true, but the building are thinning out now so he can glance at his boyfriend.

 

Porthos is a wreck even though he attempts to tone it down. Aramis notices everything and he grabs one hand in a bold move. He clutches it.

 

“About?”

 

“Anything.” Porthos shrugs helplessly.

 

“Well...I can't remember the last time I went to Fontainebleau, you see. I'm not even...”

 

“Not that,” Porthos says curtly. It's perhaps harsher than he intended.

 

It doesn't bother Aramis who seems to understand. Besides, today is definitely not the day to tell Porthos that he's sometimes rude. Because their small bickering is a result of the current situation. They'll go back to normal soon. Instead, he's quick to find another topic.

 

“There's a new intern at work,” he chirps on a light tone with warm vowels. Better. “She arrived last week but I may not have told you.” He continues after Porthos has shaken his head, has closed his eyes to let the words appease his churning mind.

 

Soon, the young woman is forgotten so that Aramis can talk about the book he's currently working on. It'll always amaze Porthos what great memory he has to be able to quote entire extracts off the top of his head. They're always so beautiful: loss and war and grief and yet hope.

 

Porthos holds on tight to the smooth fingers. When he dares open his eyes again, there's a deep forest surrounding the road. Some large fields appear from time to time. He can only make out scarce houses. Farms. Small villages. He no longer feels trapped amongst tall buildings. Rolling down the window a notch, he can finally breathe.

 

“Nope,” Aramis decides when he drives in the city. He's baffled by the road which literally goes through the Palace's park. “I've never been here before.”

 

It's as beautiful as on the pictures. Pools and fountains, canals. So much green in the alleys and the royal Palace at the far end. So many statues. Even Porthos looks up to take in the view.

 

“Me neither,” he admits.

 

“You haven't?”

 

“Last time we met in the city. I wouldn't agree to anything else. He should have considered himself lucky I said yes at all.”

 

“We'll get through it, Porthos.”

 

Aramis cannot say that it'll be fine when everything points to the opposite. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his boyfriend nod and chew on his nails. He wants his happy, silly, carefree Porthos back. He wants to see joy pour out of him once more. He wants to argue about ridiculous daily problems and not big life-wrenchers.

 

“That's huge! Am I dreaming or it's actually bigger than Athos'?” Aramis marvels when he's found his way to the correct address, leaving the town for its outskirts and the long road heading deep in the forest.

 

Porthos feels morose, watching dead or leafless trees pass by. To be honest, the state of the house astonishes him. It can't even be called a house. It's more of a mansion. A gigantic one. Obviously bigger than Athos'. Who would have thought it? But again, he's aware the man is rich and has more money than he needs. Why would he have given so much to Porthos otherwise?

 

Aramis keeps on craning his head to study the property after he's turned off the engine. There's a fountain in the courtyard. Porthos stares at the steady rhythm of the water, and hates how his heart has sped up. How his hands won't stop shaking. Going inside like this is out of the question. He won't give the bastard the pleasure of witnessing how weak he makes him.

 

In between shaky breaths, Aramis has reached out for his face to force his boyfriend to look him in the eye. His fingers are warm, rubbing the skin softly. Porthos sighs as Aramis rests their foreheads together, but doesn't say a word. In the silence, Porthos focuses on the other's breathing so he can match it.

 

“I'm here, sweetie,” Aramis whispers after a while. Porthos has grabbed his coat with both hands, holding on to it for dear life. He chuckles at the cute word. It doesn't deter Aramis.

 

“I'm here. You're going to be amazing because you are the best. Do you hear me? And the second you want to leave, we'll leave. Be it in five minutes or an hour.”

 

“I love you.” Porthos kisses him. He presses hard, wants to use the intimacy as an excuse to delay what is unavoidable.

 

In the end, he allows Aramis to pull him out of the car, their hands clapsed together. He also lets him ring at the massive front door. It seems to be such a big and empty house. A woman in a white blouse opens the door.

 

“We're here to see Belgard.”

 

“And who should I announce?” She studies them suspiciously, clearly offended by the lack of greetings and politeness.

 

“He's expecting me.”

 

“I'll go and see...” But Porthos doesn't wait for an invitation to stride inside, dragging Aramis with him. The nurse argues, urges them to stop as Porthos listens and then heads towards the faint music he hears. There's no time to lose.

 

Over the years, he's tried hard to erase the memory of how his biological father looked. Having met him only once helped. And yet, it was as if his brain was hanging to thin threads. He remembers how neat and short his hair had been, how smooth his face had been. How smart he had looked in his clothes. How piercing and icy cold his eyes had been when taking in this prodigal son.

 

However, this is absolutely not the same man he finds in the library. Long grey hair, body so thin and frail, limp and slouched in an armchair, a quilt drawn to his chest. Porthos would almost feel bad for him, given the sharp contrast.

 

“I'm sorry, Sir. They...”

 

“Porthos,” he says, realizing who has arrived. Porthos stands his ground, welcomes Aramis' hand on the small of his back. “It's all right, Cécile.”

 

“I told you he was expecting us.”

 

Then Aramis thanks her quickly as she takes their coats. He really shouldn't growl at innocent people like that. The woman isn't responsible for her employer's mistakes.

 

“I'm so glad you came.”

 

“You were persistent. What do you want?”

 

“Who is this?” the man asks back, staring at Aramis standing as close to Porthos as possible, radiating calm and inner strength.

 

“I'm Aramis.”

 

“He's my boyfriend.” And his eyes shoot daggers, _daring_ the other to make a mistake, to show the slightest hint of disapproval so that Porthos can unleash his rage on him. Nothing comes.

 

“Sit down, please.” He gestures to the couch then coughs but waves back the nurse who has hurried to help him. “Leave us. Wait, bring us something to drink first. How long have you been together?”

 

Porthos fidgets on the couch, thankful that one hand is busy holding on to Aramis' and that the other is clutching his glass of whiskey. It's never too early to drink on such occasions.

 

“I didn't come to chit-chat about my personal life. It's none of your business.”

 

“You did come, though.”

 

“Yes, because I guess you wouldn't have stopped pestering me until I did. What do you want?” Porthos asks again, gritting his teeth. There are nails digging into Aramis' palm.

 

The old man coughs again, white fingers weakly grabbing the blanket. How long has he been sick, Aramis wonders.

 

“The doctors said I have but a few months to live. Damn cancer.” He stops, waits for a reaction, resumes his explanation when he doesn't get any. “I wanted to see you again.”

 

“ _That_ I gathered. But why?”

 

“I haven't made many mistakes in my life but you...I wish I...”

 

Porthos snorts at the self-absorbed bastard.

 

“Don't you dare finish that sentence. You didn't wish for me before I was born or when my mother was sick. Or you would have been there when I was rotting in the orphanage, foster families throwing me out.” He raises his voice, not caring if Belgard cringes under the blame.

 

“You know what? If you only made me come to say this, it's pointless. We've already had this conversation.”

 

“No, wait!” Belgard exclaims and Aramis tugs on Porthos' hand to make him sit back down. He does so. He's seething though, anger boiling in his bones at the man who believed that he could have some harmless fun when he was younger and that it wouldn't have any dire consequences.

 

“I grew up without parents because of you. When I needed them the most! So don't you _dare_ tell me you wish it had been diffeent!”

 

“But I do,” he says nonetheless. Porthos' chest rumbles and he snarls, low in his throat.

 

“Wanting to change the past is useless. You're 32 years late for that. You ruined so many years of my life. I won't let you ruin more. I've a family now,” he states, glancing at Aramis and his encouraging smile. He doesn't go into details but feels the need to shout it loud and clear. Because he's proud of the fact. Proud of them. They all make him so happy.

 

“That's....good to hear. I'm glad for you.”

 

“No, you're not. You have no right to be. You're not a part of it.”

 

“Well, I'd hoped...”

 

“You hoped for nothing. I mean, it sucks that you are sick,” Porthos gestures in his general direction because after all, it does trigger something inside of him to see the man in obvious pain. But not because he's his father. Porthos would have felt the same for anybody else. “But I said it before and I'll say it again, I don't want you. You never wanted me so it's only fair. And I won't apologize for it.”

 

Belgard nods, takes it all in. If he's hurt, he doesn't show it. His face hardly moves.

 

“I wanted to. I'll be gone soon and I know it's too late but...”

 

“Damn right it's too late! That's what you should have done when I was five and lost. Or when I was ten and would cry every night because nobody wanted me! Not when I'm 32! Your....your letter. I don't...owe you anything! I … I....”

 

Showing the man he is mad is easy. Exposing raw emotions is less so.

 

“Porthos is the best man I've ever known,” Aramis ventures quietly, holds the inquisitive gaze. “Kind and funny. So lovable. He deserves the world. He doesn't deserve to worry about people who never cared about him.”

 

“Now that's...”

 

“You don't have a healthy influence on him. I don't know you, and I don't particularly want to. But let me tell you. I'm a father, which I guess is what you are as well. That's it. You're not a dad. You can't be. Your letter? It was awful for Porthos. He's been hurting so much because of what you did. Then and now. You've impacted his well-being way too much. He's entitled to despise you. Hate you even. And you cannot expect one letter, one quick apology to erase everything you did. There are consequences to hurting the people I love.”

 

Porthos should be upset at the confession of the impact his biological father's mail had on him. Yet, Aramis sounds so fierce, so menacing that any shame he might feel never surfaces.

 

Belgard looks shocked that a stranger would be so blunt with him, insulting him without second thoughts.

 

“I never meant to hurt you.”

 

“Bullshit. It's always been this way, even the first time we met with your lies and your so-called ignorance of my existence. I've been a better stepfather in the last few months than you've ever been in your entire pathetic life!”

 

They should be ashamed to attack a sick old man like this. It feels good, though. The compliment Porthos pays himself overtakes the decision not to talk about his life. Aramis nods to confirm the assumption.

 

“You have a child.”

 

“None of your business.”

 

“I do,” Aramis confirms. “And Porthos is everything you've never been to a kid. You've robbed him of lots of wonderful times. I can't begin to understand, and I don't think anyone can, how much he's had to work, all the efforts he's had to make to accept what will never be and to embrace who he is. Such an amazing job that you can't shatter because of some selfish desires.”

 

“I suppose not. Believe me or not but after all this time, you're my biggest regret.”

 

Aramis has been watching him closely, pouring his heart out to defend the person he loves the most in the world. The one he'll protect until the end. There's not one hint of compassion in Belgard's eyes, which makes it difficult to assess his sincerity. It doesn't matter to Porthos who won't start believing him today.

 

“I have a child, too. Another one, I mean. Eleanor, that's her name. She's 25? 26? She's as feisty as you are. Doesn't like me much either. It would have been great to have you both younger. Together.”

 

Porthos struggles to come up with an answer. His mouth is dry and all of a sudden, he's jealous. The girl grew up with her father and the state of their current relationship is of no importance. She's had what he never got, what he only obtained much later with Tréville. He swallows thickly.

 

“You didn't talk about her last time. Does she even know that I exist? Or am I to remain your dirty secret?”

 

“She does know. She couldn't make it today. I don't think she wanted to,” he mutters.

 

It's just as well. It's suffocating enough to have to deal with the man alone.

 

“That's unfortunate because I would have liked the both of you to hear this. I'm a wealthy man,” Belgard states.

 

Aramis could tell from the outside. In spite of the tension in the room, his eyes are drawn to the bookshelves, the neat rows of hundreds of books. The paintings look authentic. The house seems rather old. Probably a family estate dating back for some generations.

 

“Half of what I own belongs to you.”

 

Porthos raises an eyebrow, finally understanding why he's been summoned. He breathes out.

 

“I don't want anything. You never acknowledged me.”

 

“That's not a problem. And I'm not only talking about money. There are the properties as well. I'd give you this house but I fear your sister...”

 

“I have no sister.”

 

“I'm afraid she's fight you for it.” He must have understood that Porthos will contradict him on everything so he ignores most of it, resolute to finish his speech. “I'm leaving you the one in Paris.”

 

“I don't want it.” He didn't even know there was one in the city. “If you really want to atone for your mistakes, you'll give money to orphanages to relieve the ones who had to care for your _son_ when you were too lazy to do so yourself.”

 

Aramis looks at him with wonder and pride. That amid his distress, Porthos would be capable of such ideas. Of such altruism. He moves his hand to his boyfriend's back to rub small circles there. Porthos leans against the touch.

 

“Would that satisfy you?”

 

“It'd make me less mad. For once, you'd actually help others in need. What a change.”

 

Whatever Belgard might have wanted to reply to the provocation, it's drown in another coughing fit. One that goes on for a long time until his face takes on a different color. It prompts Aramis to jump to his feet and cross the space to help the man to some water. They haven't been gentle on his nerves. He may deserve to hear the truth, he's nevertheless in a bad shape. Fingers tremble on the glass, cold when they brush Aramis'.

 

“If that's settled, is there anything else you wanted to discuss?” Porthos inquires after Belgard has thanked Aramis. Porthos can't stay still on the couch. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to show concern or sympathy and yet the emotions are slowly creeping up towards his heart. He needs to leave before they take hold.

 

“I suppose you will not stay for lunch?”

 

“You suppose right.”

 

“See, I do manage to understand you. Thank you for coming, Porthos.”

 

He's already stood up, wiping sweaty palms on his jeans. He doesn't move closer to the man, careful to always keep some distance between them at all times. He hears himself give a quick goodbye, Aramis thanking the other because he's so polite and well-behaved no matter the circumstances.

 

Fresh air is what will do Porthos some good. He can't breathe properly, his heart quickens. Then Aramis softly pulls on his sleeve to make him stop in the corridor. Porthos finds kinds eyes looking at him. That's what he wants to keep staring at: his boyfriend and his handsome face. Wild curls and unruly beard. Lips tugging into a light smile. One strong hand flat on his chest, close to his heart.

 

“Is that the goodbye you really want?” Aramis asks quietly, definitely not judging. Porthos striding out of the library without a backward glance and only saying “bye” is understandable. He won't get another chance, though. So he can't regret it.

 

Aramis has seen and heard how conflicted his boyfriend was growing throughout the conversation. His guts might tell him the man doesn't deserve more, Porthos has to admit that Aramis' question unnerves him.

 

He sighs against the lips pressing on his. They don't move, they just stay there, warm and smooth. Porthos can't help but run his fingers in Aramis' hair, feeling the lush black locks against his skin. It settles him. It's where he belongs.

 

“I love you.”

 

Before Aramis can answer, and before Porthos changes his mind since it's a stupid idea, he turns around and hurries to the library.

 

This time, Belgard clearly looks surprised at the loud intrusion. Shocked even. He does appear fragile, miles away from the picture Porthos had in mind when he first learned that his biological father was actually alive. It was easier thinking of him as a heartless monster.

 

“My mom died of cancer, too.”

 

“I'm sorry to hear it.”

 

“I only have a few memories of her.”

 

“But you have some.”

 

“Yeah. I do.”

 

“Porthos....I'm sor...”

 

“Don't say it. I don't....I can't believe you. I just... Aramis thinks...I don't remember saying goodbye to her.”

 

From up close, and even if Porthos is a bit looming over the frail figure, he finds himself looking straight at eyes which are the same as his. Tréville _is_ his dad. Genetics are not enough.

 

“Goodbye,” he says plainly, offering his hand to Belgard who seems bewildered for a second until he grabs it. Shakes it.

 

It doesn't hurt as much as Porthos imagined. Although it doesn't change anything and he'll forever resent the man for giving him the early life he's had, the touch isn't repulsive. Porthos had refused to shake hands during their first meeting.

 

The thankful eyes haunt him on his way to the car. His skin tingles from the brief contact they've had and he can't wait to leave the estate. To leave it all behind. To focus on the bright future. On what makes him glad he's alive. It includes the gorgeous man pacing, kicking gravel.

 

Porthos can't quite make sense of the time spent with his biological father. Everything is tangled up. He's done such a good job not screaming that now, he feels like doing so. Or hitting something to unleash it all. And at the same time he's proud of what he's accomplished.

 

So is Aramis when he tells him, his head cushioned on Porthos' chest, arms tight around his waist, pushing so that Porthos is up against the side of the car. The hug means everything. He breathes in Aramis, familiar and delectable. Porthos lets it calm his nerves. He lets the sounds of the nature and his own breathing quiet the din in his buzzing ears. The support prevents his legs from buckling.

 

“I'd like to go see my mother,” he says when there's a respite in Aramis listing why his boyfriend is incredible and how amazing he's been for the last hour.

 

Aramis' hand is cool on his cheek. Such love in a simple gesture that Porthos finds that he can accomplish anything. It's been a long time since he's been and he can't remember Aramis ever coming with him. They'll have to fix this.

 

“Now?”

 

“Nah. Now I just want to eat and drink and forget.”

 

“Well, that's perfect because I've invited the others to cheer you up later.”

 

“What would I do without you?”

 

“You'd do exactly the same. You're so strong, Porthos. In every sense of the way. You're an inspiration. If half the people were like you, the world would be a much better place. You're fantastic.”

 

Porthos leans forward, gives him a long kiss. Their foreheads touch and the world narrows on them for these blissful minutes. This is what he'll focus on from now on. He won't forget Belgard, because that would be impossible, but he won't allow himself to be pained or to feel devastated at his mere memory. He'll dedicate his love to his dad, to his friends.

 

To Aramis. Who's been teaching him that life can be fulfilling and messy and wonderful. That it can be enjoyed even with a family. Especially one which is growing tight close. Porthos won't fail. He'll never fail. He may not even be afraid of it anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

It's dark when they finally make it back into town. Christmas lights shine and flicker above their heads, in almost all the shop windows they pass. They're holding hands like they've done all day long and Porthos won't relinquish his grip for the world. It doesn't matter if people have to step aside to let them walk side by side.

 

There's a small crowd waiting for them in front of their building. Familiar faces which bring a bright smile on Porthos'. They all look cold as if they've been waiting for hours. The tight hug in which Porthos finds himself trapped within seconds warms them up. Nobody says a word and yet, Flea's arm around his waist conveys so much. So does Alice's sweet smile or Charon's strong hand holding on to Porthos' shoulder. Athos isn't consulted before he's also pulled in another embrace by his best friend. There's no reason to fight it when he can give comfort.

 

It's almost overwhelming, to realize that his friends have been more of a family than the people who could have claimed to be. For a split second, Porthos is glad he's experienced the life he's had, the one which allowed him to meet them all. A cluster of different and conflicting personalities that leads to exceptional even if stormy relationships. Plus Aramis now a regular feature. The centerpiece of it.

 

The reason why they are gathered tonight is clear and yet, no one mentions what may have happened during the day. Apart from Ninon who kindly offers Porthos to give him the contact info of some psychologist she knows in case he'd feel the need to talk about it.

 

When they are inside, their goal becomes more obvious as they huddle in the living room, opening cans of beer and ordering all the junk food they can think of. Porthos doesn't have a spare moment to dwell on dark thoughts.

 

Flea finds some of Mati's boardgames and thus decides that they'd be great basis for new drinking games. Much laughter ensues, hasty rules and a messy table after a while.

 

Aramis barely leaves his boyfriend's side, a steady a reliable comfort. Flea's shrills and Charon quietly asking her to calm down is something he's missed, too. Everyone's adjusting to their new life so he doesn't see them as often as he used to. Porthos drinks in Alice's stories about work and impossible students, or the ones Flea tells thems about the vet clinic. Athos' mutters that they don't need to play to drink and the subsequent booing lighten his mood.

 

Porthos is definitely tipsy by the time they collapse on the couch or on the carpet to put on the karaoke DVD Flea believed to be an excellent therapy. Most of them have drunk enough to feel unashamed hollering off key lyrics. Not even Aramis who hates the activity. His boyfriend remembers the information from their very first date. If it could be qualify as much when all he was interested in was jumping Aramis.

 

Who will do anything to keep that esctatic look on Porthos' face. Eyes lighting up, shining a little because of the alcohol. It may lead to a headache in the morning, but he won't try to stop his boyfriend from getting wasted tonight. The sloppy kiss he is rewarded with at the end of his catastrophic rendition is worth it.

 

Everybody takes turn singing, until Athos has to be begged and pushed to do his bit. That he only consents to if he's joined by Ninon since she has a marvellous voice which covers the man's.

 

But they are cute together, Aramis tells Porthos from his position between his boyfriend's legs. He's sitting on the floor, cheek resting against the other's thigh. Porthos feels heavy on the couch. Too many French fries and burgers.

 

He has to agree, though. Just a year ago, Athos used to be so insecure about his relationship, breaking up for no apparent reason. Porthos has grown up a lot thanks to Aramis, embracing happiness, and so has Athos. He's been doing a tremendous job overcoming his fears. Ninon brings him stability and the others can plainly see it in their interactions, even if they never display their affection in public.

 

Porthos will have to catch up with his best friend at some point next week. Sometimes, he misses their football nights. Just the two of them.

 

* * *

 

 

There are empty pizza boxes piled on the coffee table by the time they are all gone. Long after midnight. The floor has been overtaken by a sea of empty beer cans, paper plates and plastic cups. Aramis hopes none of the boardgame pieces is missing. They are all still on the table but he can't be bothered to put them away tonight.

 

Porthos is swaying on his feet a bit, nibbling on a last chocolate. When Mati isn't here, someone has to open the Advent Calendar and indulge.

 

“We should do this more often,” he ponders out loud. “Regardless of the circumstances.”

 

“Feeling better?”

 

Porthos nods, gropes for the other's waist until he can hold him in his arms. Aramis comes willingly, opens his mouh for the greedy tongue. They're both too drunk to kiss properly. It doesn't stop them and Aramis is gasping for air, one hand on the back of his head keeping him close. Porthos' breath smells life fried oil and chocolate. It's a disgusting mix but it won't make Aramis withdraw.

 

“Tired.”

 

“Let's get you to bed then.”

 

For such a big man, Porthos is surprisingly pliant in following Aramis' lead. He lets him take off his clothes, one by one, content to bask in the attention and the tiny kisses Aramis drops on his chest once his sweatshirt is off.

 

Porthos is awake enough to suck in a breath when his boyfriend's mouth moves lower onto his stomach. He brushes his nose there, a cute gesture which tickles. Then he's on his knees, busy taking off Porthos' pants, fingers sliding on the smooth thighs, barely touching. Aramis hooks his thumbs in Porthos' underwear, removes it as quickly as the rest, and kisses the skin of his boyfriend's inner thigh. The skin just above his groin.

 

The lack of attention directed to his cock is actually what starts to arouse Porthos. He can't help but growl as Aramis stands up so he can step out of his clothes. Aramis rakes his eyes over the naked body offered to him, Porthos' hand reaching for his and clutching. One tip of the other's chin and Aramis hurries to strip and then Porthos can touch beautiful tanned skin, fingernails grazing his boyfriend's underwear.

 

“On the bed. Face first,” Aramis commands.

 

He's obeyed at once, the sheets cool against Porthos' flesh. Goosebumps appear and he groans, welcoming Aramis' weight on top of him. His hands are warm on his shoulders, rubbing, digging in the skin, massaging the tense muscles. Porthos surrenders to it, closes his eyes, face cushioned on the fresh pillow. He lets Aramis' hums and calm words become the sole thing mattering to him. The bulk of his boyfriend straddling him is reassuring. Relaxing.

 

Aramis' hands work magic, kneeding the knots underneath his skin. They move slowly, don't forget one inch of Porthos' back. He hardly catches his breath when they creep to his lower back, brush against his sides and what he can reach of the other's stomach. Porthos is too far gone, almost drowsing. Nothing else but his boyfriend invading his sense. Invading his heart impossibly more than he's already done. Porthos loves him with his whole being and perhaps more at the question which follows.

 

“Do you want more?” Aramis inquires, leaning forward to whisper in Porthos' ear. His chest is flat against the other's back. It sends shivers throughout Porthos' body in spite of how hot he feels. One skilled hand rests on his ass, slightly moving, brushing alongside it.

 

Porthos may be exhausted, he's definitely eager to come undone under Aramis' care.

 

“Please,” he drawls, surprised at how husky he sounds. Lost in Aramis' hands, he's managed to be oblivious to how turned on he was growing. But now that there's a pause in the massage, all the blood rushes to his cock, straining against the bed.

 

Aramis kisses the spot underneath his ear, then along his collarbone, the tip of his tongue teasing , before he crawls further down. Porthos sighs at the lips and how the beard scratches the oversensitive skin. Once they settle on his lower back, he draws out a shallow breath, and tries not to squirm at the fingers trailing on his ass, the curve of it, going up and down his thigh, getting closer and closer with each pass. It's like Aramis is building the slowest fire. The most intense.

 

In spite of how much he is already, Porthos needs to be touched more. He moans, lifts his hips a little and his cock pulses in his hand, full and begging to be used. Aramis lets him, happy to enjoy the view and to press kisses to Porthos' ass, his tongue licking along the underside of it.

 

And when he realizes that spreading his legs would greatly enhance the situation, Porthos has to gasp and thrash at the lips sucking between his legs, nose bumping against his balls. Aramis gives small noises as he licks and Porthos tightens his hold on his own cock, strokes and pulls, drives himself onto the clean sheets. Most of his grunts are muffled by the pillow and even so, they encourage Aramis who hardly stops to breathe and instead dives in faster.

 

Porthos bites down hard as he comes. His entire body shakes and Aramis' hand, steady on his back, is scorching hot. But even then, he keeps on kissing Porthos' sensitive skin, perhaps more gently now, until his boyfriend settles down a bit and collapses on the bed.

 

Aramis comes on his own hand as well, deep in his underwear because the show was too exquisite to be ignored. He's breathing loudly, too when he rolls around, sprawled at the far end of the bed, looking up at the ceiling and the bright light. Too bright. He doesn't want to talk and neither does Porthos. He's busy loving how calm and content he feels now. Such an incredible difference from the previous days.

 

For the few minutes Aramis is gone to the bathroom, Porthos is cold and empty. He wants to cuddle. He always wants to cuddle and he's not ashamed or embarassed to admit it anymore. Once his boyfriend he's finally safe by his side, Porthos yawns and pets the other's hair. Aramis purrs, glad to have his Porthos back. Determined to leave this dreadful week behind.

 

“We're going for a run tomorrow morning,” Porthos declares. He finds leftover energy to chuckle at Aramis' whining.

 

In the end, they don't go. Because Porthos doesn't wake up until early afternoon so morning is over. Besides, Aramis has made him a spectacular brunch that they eat snuggling up on the couch and it is far more enjoyable than working out.

 


	6. December (Part III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "italics" = Spanish

Anne sits down on a freezing bench and regrets it instantly. It may not be snowing but it sure seems like it could happen anytime soon. Mati is oblivious to how cold the air is, all excited that he is to run around and play football.

 

“You can go with them if you want,” she tells Aramis when he plops down next to her, rubbing his hands before burying them in the pockets of his coat. “You don't have to keep me company.”

 

“Nonsense. I love keeping you company.” He bumps into her shoulder, his breath misty. Anne is content to have him close while they watch their son having fun.

 

It's been so long since they've had the chance to be just the two of them, without interruption. They've both missed it. Aramis didn't imagine he would long for moments by themselves again, like they used to do when they lived hundreds of miles apart. No, that's a lie. He knew he'd crave it. He simply didn't imagine how much.

 

“How's life?” he asks for something to say. Anne shrugs.

 

“Not much. I've been busy with Christmas for the past weeks.”

 

“And...?”

 

“It's very nice of Tréville to have invited me along.”

 

“You're family, Anne. You know you are. Of course we were going to invite you.”

 

He reaches out to hold her close. She chuckles, breathes out. She _knows_ that. But it's as if they've highjacked Porthos' quiet Christmas celebration with his father so she needs the reassurance.

 

“Besides, I wouldn't have had it any other way.”

 

“Good. Mati's over the moon.” She waves back at him after he's shouted at them to look at how he was going to score. Porthos lets him. Tréville seems a bit out of breath.

 

The work-out is appreciated after their long Sunday meal. Tréville's house is nice and well-kept for someone who lives by himself. Aramis had obviously helped to cook lunch and she can still taste the chocolate and meringue on her tongue and her chapped lips. Extremely sweet. It was nice to see her son interact easily with Porthos' father, amazed at the toys he got to unwrap. She feels blessed to have been accepted as quickly as she's been. She likes the flowers and chocolate Tréville gifted her with. An unexpected surprise.

 

“And anyway,” Aramis adds, “I like it when it's the four of us.” He says so very seriously.

 

It's been weeks, months perhaps since they've spent more than half an hour together. Today, playing, having lunch, dividing Mati's attention until he didn't know to who he should talk; it's for the best. It's lovely. For a second, the decision to not do so more often to achieve some sort of balance appears ridiculous. Mati always looks delighted no matter who is with him and yet, today's been even more exceptional.

 

“I like it, too.”

 

Anne loved having her son all to herself when nothing else was possible. When they were in Spain and Aramis in Paris. Knowing that he is in the same city all the time makes her wish they could hang out more often. It's a good thing it's Christmas and they're all flying to Spain together soon.

 

“Porthos is wonderful with him,” she remarks. “You wouldn't believe all that Mati has to say about him. He's his hero.”

 

“What? You mean it's not me anymore?” Aramis draws back, faking to be deeply outraged, until she clutches his arm so she can keep him close.

 

“You don't work in a gym, do you? You work with books.”

 

“Books are wonderful, thank you very much.”

 

Anne laughs, drops her head on his shoulder, happy to feel his body shake with laughter as well.

 

“He used to be jealous of you,” Aramis says, one arm around her waist. He hopes Porthos doesn't feel the same towards her now. He hasn't mentioned it since last December. The first time he's met Anne.

 

“I know. I suppose anyone who loves you would be, given our kind of relationship.”

 

“I like our relationship. You're my best friend.” She beams against his coat, cold air on her smiling cheeks. “Do you remember how scared we used to be?”

 

He doesn't need to supply more for her to understand that he is talking about the time when she told him that she was pregnant. Anne can't help but shudder a little at the thought.

 

“I think I cried every night at the beginning. Because I wasn't sure what was going on. I didn't know if you'd keep your word. And my parents were almost not talking to me anymore.”

 

“You were miserable.”

 

“And then there you were.”

 

Anne looks up at his sweet smile. He hasn't changed much from how he looked seven years beforehand. There may be more crinkles around his eyes and definitely more hair but it suits him. His eyes haven't changed. Still kind and compassionate. No more guilt.

 

“They wouldn't even let you in once you decided that me staying with them wasn't healthy.” Aramis nods at her words. He bitterly remembers being drenched while waiting for Anne to say goodbye and escape the suffocating atmosphere in her parents' house.

 

“It wasn't. You weren't eating anything.”

 

“I did eat. I kept throwing everything back up.”

 

“Not healthy, then.”

 

“I was so relieved, though. To have another place to stay. Even if it was messy.”

 

“Hey! I tried to clean! I gave you my bed.”

 

“Because you are a gentleman,” Anne jokes.

 

“Absolutely. I mean, your parents left me to wait in the rain. I could have been less than accomodant with their daughter.”

 

“I was pregnant!”

 

“I was still nursing my injury,” Aramis fires back. She punches his shoulder, sighs at his smirk.

 

“We were a mess.”

 

She clearly remembers staying up at night, wrenching her nerves, _their_ nerves, eating junk food and worrying about what they would do. How scared she was, how they tried to comfort the other in spite of how clueless they both were. How it wasn't long before Aramis gave up on sleeping on the couch and they shared his bed. Because it made her feel better, to have strong arms around her body and that for these few hours, she didn't have to think about their problems.

 

Anne also remembers how much they attempted to study while the baby wasn't there yet. How many trips they made to buy all the supplies they needed. How helpful Aramis' parents were. The money they gave, the advice and support, even if it had become clear that Anne wasn't going to be their daughter-in-law. How dating ended up being too stressful that they gave up on it. But it didn't make things awkward. It actually made it easier. Better. More comfortable.

 

Sharing an appartment also became easier after a while, and once the baby started kicking, Anne can only recall happy moments. Aramis' marveling gaze engraved in her memory, laughter and smiles and endless discussions about what they would do, how they would name it. Mindless arguments.

 

Aramis mumbling but in the end doing whatever she asked him to.

 

“We turned out quite good, didn't we?” Aramis pulls her out of her daydream.

 

Their son so grown up, his smile so wide and his legs kicking the ball with such passion. He casts occasional glances in their direction, no longer afraid that one of them will disappear. Everything they've done in their life has been for him. Aramis is resolute that Anne should think about herself for a change. Porthos has transformed his life. It's her turn to enjoy this kind of happiness. Her before others. She deserves it.

 

“I saw Constance last week. At the fencing club Christmas party. This babysitter is really good, by the way. Mati liked her,” Aramis comments.

 

“Good to know.”

 

“She said she's invited you to the wedding as well.”

 

“She has. She's really nice. We've gone out a couple of nights.”

 

Those are probably the only times Anne has done anything fun in Paris without her son. Constance is a great woman, eager to help Anne in her new life. She hopes they're growing to become friends. The invitation was unexpected and much appreciated.

 

“You'll be in need of a date, then,” Aramis says playfully.

 

“I'll have Mati.”

 

“One your own size.”

 

“I'm so busy handling my life in Paris that I really don't have time for this.” She shrugs and Aramis studies her suspiciously.

 

He's never seen her with anyone, hasn't heard her talk about any romantic interest in the long years they've built their family. He might sound insistant, it won't make her budge. He knows that much. It'd lead to an argument and that's not what he desires for the time being. He won't mention the wedding isn't till July either. For the moment. Soon, though, Aramis will inquire further.

 

“As long as you're happy.”

 

Anne smiles a dazzling smile, her face half hidden under her fluffy hat. Her state of mind isn't worth talking about right now. She's rather enjoy watching her son having fun.

 

Mati falls down, then gets up with Porthos' help. He nods enthusiastically at something the man says, and they both look at their fans on the bench. Porthos has lost his coat, which doesn't seem like a clever idea in such weather. He argues with Mati who wants to do the same.

 

“Keep the coat on, Mati!” Anne shouts out.

 

“But Mamá! Porfos...”

 

“Is an adult! You'll do what you want when you'll be one. You're 5. Keep the coat on.”

 

“I'm 5 and a half!”

 

“Same thing. You're not an adult until you're at least 25! Keep the coat on!”

 

“That seems a bit excessive, don't you think?” Aramis chimes in while Mati pouts but lets go of his zipper to run after the ball. Porthos tips his head toward them, hurries after the boy. Tréville has given up, watching his son and the child play.

 

“Porthos looks better,” Anne observes.

 

“Yes, he is.”

 

Thank God. Nothing has changed dramatically in his life because of his meeting with his biological father. Aramis is delighted to have his boyfriend back. Especially as he is able to drag him outside to go stroll the Christmas markets. Porthos still whines and groans about it, but he wouldn't dream of letting Aramis go by himself. What he needs to heal is to be around the other as much as possible. It should be suffocating and yet it isn't.

 

Perhaps because they fit in some time alone as well. Aramis stays at home when Porthos goes to Athos' to resume their football nights. It's _their_ thing. On these nights, Aramis either play quietly with Mati or he does nothing. He enjoys having the place to himself for a couple of hours. It's nice to be alone with his thoughts, only surrounded by silence.

 

Porthos needs more than his boyfriend to get better. Aramis doesn't mind. Time spent apart is good.

 

“Thank you, Anne. For talking to him.”

 

“He seemed so lost. It broke my heart a little.”

 

“Mine too...We thought likewise, you and I. Meeting his father was for the best.”

 

“And yet you didn't tell him that.” It's not a reproach. Aramis looks down nonetheless.

 

“I didn't want to seem pushy.”

 

Anne grabs his hand. Cold fingers. He should wear gloves. So she warms them.

 

“Sometimes you have to, Aramis. It's not easy and people can take it the wrong way, even hate you for it, but it has to be done.”

 

“I'm glad you did it. For his sake. He was miserable.”

 

“Don't underestimate yourself. He had you, too, didn't he? You may not have told him what he needed to hear but you were there.”

 

“Yes.” Aramis breathes out quietly. He remembers how heart-wrenching it was to go to the silent graveyard and how Porthos's hand was gripping his. Aramis doesn't recall letting go of it the entire time they spent on his mother's grave.

 

“That's more than enough.”

 

“You're the best,” Aramis professes.

 

“Far from it.” Anne shakes her head, smiling.

 

“For us, you are. You're just right. I'm so thankful you're here in Paris.” His eyes shine with honesty and love and she can't help but feel invigorated by it. Her hat is half on her face after she's rested her head on his shoulder.

 

Porthos comes to a stop next to his father while Mati races to the other side of the park, kicking the ball. Not in the least tired. Porthos can barely catch his breath. He's sweating in his warm clothes. This boy is unstoppable. Tréville is also still breathing heavily. It's been a long time since he's had such enthusiastic competition.

 

The addition to their holiday celebration is more than welcome. He would never complain about it. He secretly loves it. For his son, but also for himself. Mati is full of life and adapts to change so easily.

 

“They're rather close,” he comments, tilting his head towards Anne and Aramis. They're snuggled close. She's drapped around him and if nobody knew better, they would say they were absolutely, definitely, a couple.

 

Porthos shakes his head. They're standing too far away to be able to hear the others' conversation. All he can make out is their occasional laughter. How Anne presses a quick kiss to Aramis' cheek and then tugs on his hair. Porthos may have come to terms with their relationship, accepted that there will always be gestures that unsettle him. Anne won't steal Aramis away from him, of that he is certain. Not like that. That's some relief.

 

He's nevertheless satisfied to see how his boyfriend cleverly pushes away the hand absent-mindedly put on his thigh.

 

Just then, Aramis also looks up to find Porthos staring rather intensely until he smiles back. No, he has nothing to fear here.

 

“They are,” he replies to his father. “Given everything that they've had to face together, it's not surprising.”

 

They're all drawing comfort from one another, Tréville realizes. In different ways but they each have something good to offer to grow.

 

“It used to bother me. When I didn't know her. But now...it doesn't... not as much. I don't think so...I'm not really sure...You know how it is...”

 

 _How could I_ , Tréville wonders. That's some family Porthos has found.

 

“Not really, no.”

 

“...Right. Because you're not involved with anyone.”

 

“I'm fine. When you're my age...”

 

Porthos snorts. Loudly. Tréville's dark stare doesn't scare him anymore.

 

“Yes. You're a dinosaur.” He's smirking as he says so, too happy to tease his father.

 

“You're lucky you're too old to be grounded.”

 

“Hey, I gave you a grandchild, didn't I?”

 

There are happy tremors in his heart at the idea. No more apprehension. He's quite proud of how important and essential Mati has become for him. Of all the new people he gets to meet through his stepfather. Tréville grins back, gives a little laugh. Which disappears after Porthos has spoken again.

 

“It's your turn to give me a stepmom. Don't you think?”

 

“Get out!” Tréville thunders, which startles Mati who is coming back, ball rolling in front of him. His little mouth forms a cute O shape as he cocks his head at the adults.

 

“Porfos is naughty?” He's recognized the tone of voice and how the oldest man looks. Porthos laughs out loud then. He gathers the wet football and pulls Mati's sliding hat away from his eyes.

 

“I'm being a charm. No naughtiness at Christmas, remember?”

 

Mati agrees quite seriously, eager to have more presents later in the week to add to those received today. He would never have imagined that Santa visited France before going to Spain. They are all glad he's bought the lie. He'll likely stop believing in Santa Claus before next year. If they can cling to this bit of magic now, it's perfect.

 

Mati is also excited to go back inside, to drink hot chocolate and to marvel at new toys. There's a fire in the living room, just like the one at his grandparents' estate. He feels cozy with his parents and Porthos. So much love surrounding him that it should always be like this.

 

* * *

 

Taking the plane the next day is an expedition. They carry more bags than one might suppose necessary for a holiday less than a week long. The publishing house only closes for a few days and Anne coldn't be granted much more time away from the museum.

 

Mati is always excited to fly, no matter the time of the day or the crowd at the airport. And being three adults to handle his hyperness is barely enough. At least he's not crying. Aramis has a headache by the time he greets his father in Barcelona. He's snuggled against Porthos in the car driving them home, relishing in the hand on his hip, cringing whenever Mati squeals too loudly at one of his gandfather's questions.

 

Being the center of attention is what the boy loves so of course, he's quick to monopolize everyone's interest once they've reached their destination. His grandmother's and his aunt's more specifically. They won't stop marveling at how much he's grown. They also smother him with kisses and start spoiling him before Anne can complain about it.

 

It's a happy reunion for Porthos as well, who rejoices in being included in this family, too. He's never spent two Christmas in a row with the same partner. Not even one, if he thinks about it. It makes Aramis more special. Porthos feels so at ease with them, glad to be able to communicate in Spanish. Their compliments keep on warming his heart.

 

The sunny smile on his boyfriend's face becomes Aramis' new favorite feature. It must hurt to never stop doing it but it's the outside expression of how well Porthos feels and fits. Better than last year. Less awkwardness. Aramis loves his mother for commenting on what a great family they make, the four of them. He loves how Porthos' eyes shine at the declaration.

 

So Aramis says it again that night when it's just the two of them in his old bedroom.

 

“I'm trying my best,” Porthos replies.

 

“You are, Porthos. The three of us with Mati? We're champions.”

 

“Even when he damages your eardrums?”

 

“Even then. Because at his age, he's still free to do what I also feel deep inside and won't do since I'm a grown-up.”

 

Porthos' chest rises and falls steadily under his cheek. The hand petting his hair is lulling Aramis to sleep. Little tender touches which have become natural yet are always welcome. Always appreciated, no matter the place or the audience.

 

One arm always around Aramis' waist whenever they sit side by side. Fingers pulling on his ponytail to let the locks fall freely at night. Soft lips on Porthos' as soon as Aramis has to abandon him to go give his son his undivided attention. Ticklish hands on Porthos' waist when he's undressing or really anytime Aramis is in a goofy mood. For the sake of hearing Mati's laughter at Porthos' surprised yelps.

 

Fond gazes watching the other interact with the child. Easy as breathing.

 

Aramis hugs his mother for a long time after they've come back from the Christmas Eve service. Mati was asleep on his mother even though he stayed up longer than he did the previous year. It was amazing to notice how careful Porthos was in relieving Anne of her warm burden so she could get behind the wheel. They all get along and Aramis wonders if his mother isn't actually happier about it than he is.

 

Nothing can top how they spend their Christmas night after church, though. When everyone has gone to bed, the house is quiet and the dogs only bark twice while they set up presents all around the tree. Mati was crushed that it had been decorated without him. His father reminding him that he had done two in Paris already didn't satisfy the boy.

 

The colorful lights are pretty in the living room. So is the holly scattered everywhere. Porthos has to take a breath once he recognizes his face on one of the pictures on the mantelpiece. Aramis' arms sneak around his waist. He rests his chin on Porthos' back.

 

“You belong,” he simply says. He knows there's nothing else to add.

 

Porthos gazes at the photo, then snorts after he's turned around to come face to face with his boyfriend and the ridiculous Santa hat he's collected on the coffee table. It's too small, intended for a child but Porthos can't help but find Aramis adorable in it.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Don't I look dashing?”

 

“Spectacular. Come here, silly.”

 

Aramis does so, their noses bumping while they kiss. Arms travel higher to Porthos' neck, clutch and pull him in closer. Aramis wets his lips, staring at Porthos' parted ones, the dazzling white teeth and the hint of tongue behind them. Finishing the unattended and lukewarm bottle of champagne may have been too much.

 

“Do you want to play Santa Claus with me?” Aramis smirks, bites his lip, squeezes Porthos' ass.

 

Any thought about remaining decent in his in-laws' house escape him the moment Aramis begins to suck on his neck and Porthos has to swallow thickly not to moan.

 

“Merry Christmas,” Aramis gasps out hours later, sweaty and heart thumping. There's come on Porthos' heaving stomach, on his hand, on Aramis' hip that he's been clutching violently.

 

Porthos' head falls back on the pillow, Aramis shaking above him, around him, straddling him, invading him like only Aramis can. Porthos basks in it, breathes in how dirty the air smells after sex. How it smells like them.

 

The words ring in the silence they've had to maintain so they wouldn't wake up the rest of the household. It's made it more intense.

 

Aramis repeats them, collapsing forward. Hands framing Porthos' face, hair on his eyes. He says it against burning lips, captures the reply. Cherishes it.

Once he's breathing more correctly, Aramis grabs the first thing he encounters to clean his boyfriend. And himself. The hat is dirty before he realizes his mistake. Porthos wrinkles his nose, looking at a defeated Aramis. He hopes there are more lying around the house or there'll be drama soon.

 

“I cannot stress how important it is that this hat never leaves this room again. Ever.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

“I'll hide it just to be on the safe side,” Aramis decides. “But later.” He yawns, rolls over and draws the comforter all the way up to his chin.

 

* * *

 

Aramis' sister corners him the next day sometime after lunch when everyone has eaten too much, and the house starts to resonate with blipping and random sounds from too many electronic devices. Mati and his cousins have decided they are too old for naps on Christmas day. None of the adults agreed with it. At least the children are playing together and thus have stopped begging the grown-ups to join them.

 

Anne is on the phone. Porthos is trying to talk with Aramis' brother-in-law. His Spanish is still broken but he's remarkably improved during the last months. Aramis is watching them fondly, leaning against the doorframe, sporting the new sweater he's been given in the morning. So he startles at Ali's sudden appearance.

 

 _“What?”_ he snaps at her and her wicked grin.

 

_“You had fun last night.”_

_“It was mass. Sure, I did.”_

_“I meant the worshipping you did after.”_ She winks, wiggles her eyebrows. Her brother gasps and grabs her by the arm to lead her in the hallway.

 

 _“You weren't supposed to hear that.”_ Aramis is blushing a little. A lot. He's mortified. On the other hand, Ali seems to be having the time of her life. Aramis did believe they were quiet. Did his parents hear them, too? He'll die of shame if they did.

 

_“Well, I wasn't supposed to wake up to pee either. Whose fault is it if I drank too much?”_

 

His.

 

Aramis rubs at his eyes, runs his hand through his hair.

 

_“God. That's embarassing.”_

_“You made some cute noises.”_

_“Stop it!”_ He almost snarls which simply makes her laugh more. But she's quick to hug him to soften the sting. Because he's her baby brother and after all, she wouldn't be doing a good job if she didn't make him uncomfortble once in a while. They don't see each other often enough.

 

Truth be told, she hardly heard anything. She wasn't going to hang around in front of their door. There are some things she never wants to be able to image vividly. Her brother in bed is one of them. Making fun of him is what she excels at.

 

 _“I'm happy you're happy,”_ she eventually tells Aramis after he's done complaining that she's a nuisance. It settles him a little.

 

He has a difficult time not blushing for the rest of the night, darting quick looks at Ali every now and then, watching her carefully. The look on Porthos' face when Aramis shares his shame is priceless. He doesn't blush as strongly as his boyfriend did but gulps quite audibly at her wink. Aramis' decision to never touch him at night anymore in his parents' home lasts for about five minutes before he decides that being comforted by Porthos is more important than his nosy sister.

 

“She's just jealous you get to spend quality time with me,” Porthos jokes even though his eyes flicker to the closed door and whenever they fall silent, he listens intently for any unwelcome noises. It's never happened before, to be overheard in intimate situations so the jokes are obviously also to reassure himself.

 

“I'm just thinking it could have been my mother and I would have really died then.”

 

“You're too dramatic. But yes, you're right.”

 

Porthos shivers at the thought, tightens his hold on Aramis' waist, listening to his steady breathing above his head. Porthos' hair is damp from his shower and Aramis' chest is the perfect pillow.

 

“We should probably just sleep from now on,” he adds. Aramis huffs, because his resolutions to remain decent and correct never last. It makes Porthos smile and he drops one kiss on the soft stomach.

 

“Tomorrow shouldn't be a problem,” Aramis sighs.

 

“When will you be back?”

 

“It's a three-hour drive to get there and I'm not sure Anne's offer to spend the night will be approved. You don't have to wait up for me.”

 

“We'll see.”

 

“What if...,” Aramis starts. _What if they don't like me?_ He almost says. Anne's parents have hated him for years so the question is pointless. He's beyond nervous to spend time with them, even if it's only an afternoon. He breathes deeply, focuses on Porthos' fingers splayed on his skin.

 

“What if I have nothing to talk about?” he asks instead.

 

“You'll have Mati and Anne with you. You'll have plenty to talk about. And besides, it's you, Aramis. You could charm anyone.”

 

“Not them I'm afraid.”

 

“Their loss. And you can text me if it gets too much. To vent or whine. I don't mind.”

 

It's been decided that Porthos would stay behind to allow Aramis to meet Anne's parents. His boyfriend would have loved to have some more support to go through the day but as they are obviously don't sanction the men's relationship, it's better. There'll be enough tension without providing more things for them to criticize. Aramis is aware that this meeting had to happen at some poijnt, but now that it's upon him, he's dreading it. They've despised him for as long as Mati has been alive. He's not looking forward to the next day.

 

For Anne's sake, he is. For his own, definitely not.

 


	7. December (Part IV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "italics" = Spanish. Lots of it in this one. I have to be consistent.

The first song on the CD comes back on speaker and Aramis is quite positive he knows the entire album by heart. It's the only thing Mati wants to listen to when they travel by car. Years of it and it hasn't tired him yet. His parents have. Anne reaches out to at least lower the volume and the lack of fussing prompts her to turn her head toward the backseat.

 

“He's out,” she declares, happily turning the music off and leaning back in the passenger seat. Aramis risks a glance in the rearview mirror.

 

Mati's mouth is open as he sleeps, teddy bear in his arms, head against the door. He's clearly not disturbed by the vibrations of the car. The boy was singing his heart out only two minutes beforehand. Unbelievable.

 

“I used to be the same,” Aramis says. “Always sleeping in cars. I don't think I've changed actually...”

 

“You haven't. Why do you think you're the one driving? If I do, I end up with no one to talk to.”

 

Aramis scowls, then realizes that she is correct. Porthos would agree if he was with them. Aramis isn't a helpful co-pilot. He does make cute faces when he sleeps so his boyfriend is more than ready to forgive him. On the other hand, Anne wants company. Which is why Aramis ended up behind the wheel driving toward Madrid.

 

It gives him something else to focus on: the traffic and the GPS directions distract him from the impending meeting. Even though he knows how to make his way in the world, Anne's parents make him nervous. He's never had a good opinion of them, based on his experience.

 

Mati doesn't share the same view; his grandparents have been nothing but sweet and loving with him. Saying goodbye to his paternal ones after only a couple of days was softened by the knowledge that he was going to see the others. And open more presents. They just won't stop coming this season.

 

“My mom said she's like to have Mati for more time sometime during a school break,” Aramis mentions now that they can have an actual conversation without being interrupted.

 

“Of course.”

 

“Perhaps even during the summer? I don't know what we're doing or anything yet, but we'll have to come up with a plan.”

 

“Do you think....do you think we could still do what we used to? The three of us at the beach? With Porthos, I mean,” she adds quickly. “I've missed it last August.”

 

“I'll ask him.” But Aramis already knows the answer will be yes. Porthos will always say yes to whatever could make Aramis spend more time with Mati. He may not even be making an effort to accept it anymore. Still, Aramis wouldn't mind fitting in some holiday just with his boyfriend. Alone. Unlimited time together.

 

“I suppose my parents will want to have Mati for longer as well. They've been nagging me for not visiting in the fall.”

 

Anne shakes her head, annoyed at how persistent they were whenever they'd call. She missed them, too, but what they were asking for wasn't practical. The two days she'll spend with them now won't satisfy them entirely either.

 

There's no reply for a while and as she opens her eyes to glance at Aramis, she finds him frowning, teeth biting a lip. One hand clutching the steering-wheel and the other drumming on his thigh. Anne cannot advise him not to be nervous.

 

“I told them to treat you nicely,” she reassures him instead. Besides, they wouldn't dare being less than amicable in front of Mati. She hopes.

 

“I just don't know what they expect of me.” Nothing much, he's certain. He's aware he's being forced on them today. “It's good that you insisted that I should come. It can only improve your relationship with them. But...do they expect me to apologize?”

 

“For what?”

 

Aramis looks briefly from the road to her, cocking his head. His eyes state the obvious. Anne rolls hers.

 

“You haven't made any mistake you'd need to apologize for, Aramis. You never forced me to do anything and you've been here all along. You've been the best and I couldn't have wished for a better partner to raise my child with.”

 

She's grabbed his hand and he clutches the fingers tightly.

 

“If I was an actual one, it might make it easier for them to accept me.”

 

“I doubt it. You still wouldn't have the prestigious name and ancestors they hoped for. I can understand how upset they were at the time but it's been ages. No one should hold a grudge for so long simply because I didn't marry into the aristocracy. This isn't the 17th century anymore.”

 

Her grumbling makes Aramis laugh. It's a much more efficient support to see how she despises her parents' behavior.

 

“I can picture you, though. Wearing amazing gowns and designer clothes and going to galas. Never having to work.”

 

“Living off my husband's money? I would have been miserable. I wouldn't even have Mati.”

 

“Yeah, that would be terrible,” he agrees, dreading that fictional scenario.

 

“I'm better off with you. Even if it's difficult and not conventional. Besides, see what good it did my brother. He's getting a divorce,” she explains. “You might almost be more popular than him today.”

 

Aramis snorts, finds it hard to believe. He's thankful his parents aren't as oppressing as Anne's. Having your every decision questioned and challenged must be exhausting.

 

The discussion doesn't make Aramis less fidgety so by the time he parks in front of a house he thought never to see again, he's glad Mati isn't quite awake yet. It gives him the excuse of carrying him inside while the boy rubs at his eyes, blinks and yawns.

 

It also softens the blow of being ignored while his hosts greet their daughter. He's an unwelcome outsider yet Anne's situation is in some ways more difficult to bear. She's torn between all the people that she loves, trying with all her might to reconcile them.

 

Aramis feels underdressed in his jeans and his trainers as he takes in the smart clothes. The dress, high heels and pearls. The white shirt and the bow tie. Anne is dressed as casually as he is, yet she has no one to impress. He shouldn't either.

 

Mati peeks at the familiar voices until his grandparents are somewhat obligated to acknowledge the man carrying him. Then the child squeals, delighted, exactly as he did with his other grandparents. Definitely awake, now. He almost scrambles out of his father's grasp. It gives Aramis something else to busy himself with: putting his son down and helping him out of his coat.

 

“ _My, you've grown, sweetheart,”_ Mati's grandmother marvels. He beams up at her, kisses her cheek soundly and does the same to his grandfather. Aramis waits awkwardly by the side. Anne's mother's eyes flicker to him from time to time throughout Mati's rambling, but they never settle on him totally. Should he be the one saying hello?

 

“ _Mother....,”_ Anne chimes in, stepping close to Aramis, determined to stand by him. She won't put up with rudeness. Not in front of her son.

 

“ _Of course....hello.”_ The tight smile is as good as it'll get. The handshake is so quick that Aramis barely feels it.

 

“ _Hello. Thank you for having me.”_ But she's already turned around, focused on her grandson.

 

“ _Merry Christmas,”_ her husband greets Aramis. His handshake is stronger, friendlier. His smile warmer. It calms Aramis a bit. While his wife has gone back to ignoring her guest to listen to the child, Anne's father at least inquires about their trip, about the weather on the coast, about their flight from Paris.

 

“ _Papá! Shut Up is here! Come!”_

 

This Aramis can do. He can forget his stress to dutifully let the boy lead him to the bright and large living room, toward the chirping of his former pet. Mati bypasses all the other persons in the room to hop in front of the bird cage. For a few minutes, Aramis' world narrows on his boy, his enthusiasm and joy. He draws courage from it. He won't let anyone spoil his day with his family.

 

“ _That's a beautiful sound. I don't see why anyone would want it to stop.”_

 

“ _Mam_ _á_ _does,”_ Mati giggles.

 

“ _Well, I don't.”_ More giggles ensue. Anne tuts when Aramis whips his head around.

 

“ _I don't either. I'm Felipe.”_ Aramis shakes the outstretched hand. He meets no resentment there, and with one arm still holding on to Mati, he starts to relax a little.

 

The mother has disappeared somewhere, the father is taking out glasses, asking Anne what she wants to drink. They were waiting for them to get started. There's apparently no one ele in the house. Less anxiety over meeting more disdainful persons.

 

“ _I think we met before,”_ he tells Anne's brother after thinking about it. _“When Mati was born.”_

 

“ _Right. Time flies, doesn't it? How old are you going to be, eh? Five?”_

 

“ _Six! In May!”_ Mati adoribly takes offence, fists balled on his tiny hips. His uncle laughs, so does Anne and Aramis has to follow suit. It's a bit hollow but he's beginning to breathe more comfortably.

 

“ _Papá! Look! I mak_ ed _this one!”_

 

“ _Made.”_

 

“ _Made. Look it!”_ Mati points at an ornament on the perfect Christmas tree. There are actually a couple which look homemade amidst the shiny and beautifully arranged store-bought ones.

 

“ _They're my favorite,”_ his father professes, without lying. He kneels to observe them and listens intently to Mati's explanation.

 

“ _Maria mak_ ed _....made this one. Where's Maria?”_ He seems to suddenly remembers. His uncle is here so his cousin should be as well.

 

“ _She's with her mother today.”_ Felipe lets his sister handles the rest.

 

“ _She has two homes now. She can't always be with her dad.”_

 

“ _I've two homes, too!”_ The child exclaims, climbing on the couch after his grandfather has offered them seats. _“One with Mam_ _á_ _and one with Porfos and Pap_ _á_ _!”_

 

Who incidentally gets punched and kicked in the stomach while the child attempts to settle on his lap. Aramis sucks in a breath.

 

“ _And how do you like it?”_ his grandfather asks.

 

“ _I've two beds and a lot of toys! And Papá cooks and I play football with Porfos! He's big! He bought me a shirt!”_

 

“ _A football jersey,”_ Anne supplies. _“So he can wear it when it'll be warmer.”_ She sits close to Aramis on the couch, rejoices in how her father has welcomed the man. He may even have backed his daughter a bit when she said she wanted Aramis here with them today.

 

Anne has always been closer to her father than her mother who has always been the one hating Aramis the most. Perhaps because she wanted their daughter to have the life she couldn't completely have. She married well, into a wealthy family and hardly ever had to work outside of charities. But it wasn't the same as becoming a member of the aristocracry.

 

Meeting Louis should have been a godsend.

 

All Anne's father wanted for her was a good situation. A life with no difficulty and no struggles. He was devastated by her one-night stand and the subsequent pregnancy. Everybody was. No matter how sweet Mati can be, how excited and full of life, it doesn't change what could have been. His daughter has had to battle for the past years. He wouldn't have wished it on anyone. So of course...

 

But seeing her with Aramis, with the man they've shunned for the best part of a decade, it shakes his resolve a bit. His grandson has only been speaking highly of his father. And it wasn't a lie. It may be to conceal how uncomfortable he is feeling, yet Aramis seems transfixed by his son, ever so careful while holding the glass of juice for him.

 

Ever so passionate while supplying more information about what Mati does in Paris, the school, the attentive teachers, the friends Mati is making, the places they've been. His son is obviously the safest subject. Aramis doesn't realize he's taking over the conversation. Anne is grinning by his side, because he's starting to feel at ease. And more importantly, he's not being interrupted by an overall captivated audience.

 

And also because she's relieved she isn't the only parent obsessed with Mati's every move or word.

 

His daughter could have a worse life, he eventually decides. Aramis will never be his coice, he'll never come to terms with what a few drinks led to when they were younger. But what's done is done.

 

Anne keeps on smiling, laughing, stars in her eyes once her mother comes back with some presents. The pearls she unwraps are magnificent.

 

“ _You're pretty, Mam_ _á_ _!”_ Mati marvels from his spot on the floor, his own gifts forgotten while he watches Aramis help her with the necklace. His hands linger on her shoulders, squeezing lightly. He's a bit overwhelmed by how well it's going so far. Although she hardly looked him in the eye when she did so, his host also gave him a present. It's Christmas after all, in spite of bitterness.

 

“ _You really are pretty, Anne,”_ he concurs. Forgetting that he should be nervous in a house he's never been into until today, he kisses her quickly on the cheek. It's a natural thing for them to do.

 

“ _Pap_ _á_ _!”_ Mati shrills, surrounded by wrapping paper, hyperventilating as he holds the box at arm's length. _“Pap_ _á_ _!”_

 

“ _Wow...Mom...Dad...He's been dreaming about this one.”_

 

Mati scrambles to his feet, fights with th box before giving up and handing it to his father. The car is shiny black, it looks like Darth Vader and the boy can't stop hopping while it's being unpacked.

 

“ _Put the battery in! Put the battery in!”_

 

“ _Aren't you forgetting to tell your grandparents something?”_

 

Having distracting him with thank yous, Aramis is free from the child jumping close by and thus is able to perform the requested task. Soon, Mati is busy driving the car around, bumping it into furniture and absolutely not caring if he gets scolded for it.

 

“ _Wine?”_ Anne's father offers now that they're among adults. Aramis declines.

 

“ _I've a long drive back later. I'll have some of that juice you gave Mati, if that's all right.”_

 

“ _We have more non-alcoholic drinks if you want.”_ As Anne's mother lists them, looking at him with appreciation yet nevertheless judging and assessing, Anne knows he's scoring points. Without meaning to. Aramis hates driving alone so it's for the best if he doesn't drink beforehand.

 

“ _So, Anne. How's work?”_ her brother asks after his mother has given Aramis a tall glass of iced Coke.

 

“ _Good. I'm loving the museum. There are more opportunities than I had in Madrid, that's for sure.”_

 

“ _Great. How's life?”_

 

“ _I just told you. Busy. I've found an interesting yoga class,”_ she adds or he'll keep on insisting. _“And when there's time I go to Porthos' gym.”_

 

“ _You do?”_ Aramis cuts in.

 

“ _Yes. Hasn't he told you?”_

 

“ _He mentioned it once or twice.”_

 

“ _Which is about the time I've spent there so far.”_

 

Clueless as to why, Aramis is relieved Porthos has told him every time she's been. He'll have time to worry about what it means later.

 

“ _This Porthos is....”_ Felipe starts, more interested in the people related to his sister than her parents are.

 

“ _My boyfriend.”_ Aramis' voice is steady, he straightens his back.

 

“ _He dances!”_ Mati adds. The car runs straight into his father's foot, which makes the boy giggle and Aramis wince.

 

“ _He teaches zumba,”_ Anne clarifies. _“He taught Mati some moves, didn't he?”_

 

Mati nods enthusiastically, tongue sticking out as he tries to master all the commands on the remote.

 

“ _Mati likes him a lot,”_ she says, looking pointedly at her parents, daring them to utter the complaints and disapproval they've made in the past about their grandson's stepfather. Her request that they wouldn't cause drama today must have been heard. She sips on her wine, listening to Aramis explain more, growing more at ease with her brother. They should have done this years ago. The two of them meeting. They're getting along fine.

 

By the time lunch is ready and they all settle at the table, Aramis has forgotten that his every move is being watched. Taking care of Mati, handling his whims about the seating arrangement, these are things he's used to. It doesn't feel like he's forcing himself to do good, because he isn't. He's not doing it to impress anyone. Anne has no idea why her parents would have thought so, or why they wouldn't entirely believe her when she said that he was an excellent father. Now that they've witnessed it first hand, it's one less accusation they'll be able to hold against him.

 

Mati always sits on his father's left at the table so it had to be the same here. Making his grandfather move was the least of his concern. Not when he looks pleased with his plate and the food in it, trying to cut tiny pieces by himself.

 

“ _Do you still fence?”_ Felipe asks. Aramis swallows, not expecting to be asked so much about his life.

 

“ _I do. Not as much as I used to, because of him, though.”_

 

“ _You were rather good, from what I recall.”_

 

“ _He still is.”_ Aramis smiles at Anne above the blond curls between them.

 

“ _I think I'd still be competing if I hadn't broken my foot.”_

 

“ _To make me!”_ Mati blurs out, always ready to tell the story of how his parents came to be called so. Ignorant of how his pride makes his grandmother squint. Aramis chokes a little on his moutful. _“Because Pap_ _á_ _was sad and...”_

 

“ _Yes, sweetie. We know the story.”_ Anne smoothes his hair, urges him to eat more.

 

Her brother appears to find their parents' discomfort quite entertaining. He used to think that Aramis couldn't be good enough for his little sister. No one could. Especially since he had no intention of marrying her. Besides, Anne had to handle Mati all on her own for years. The reasons for Aramis moving to Paris didn't matter. What did was that Anne had been left alone with a toddler. Watching them on the other side of the table, though, they do look like a family. One which functions, in spite of how odd their relationship is. They don't despise one another, which is precisely what Felipe can't say about his future former wife and himself. Following the norm obviously doesn't mean making it work on the long term.

 

“ _What do you do then? If you don't compete anymore?”_

 

“ _I work for a publishing house. I didn't stray far from my first love. I write and edit the study chapters about weapons.”_

 

“ _Aramis graduated in literature. Poetry mostly,”_ Anne explains.

 

“ _I wasn't aware people were interested in what type of guns characters used.”_ Her father studies Aramis, not with disdain for his job, but with interest. Even if he sounds doubtful.

 

“ _My publishing house specializes in classics. Nothing from the 20 th century, as far as I'm concerned.”_

 

“ _So swords, basically?”_

 

“ _Exactly.”_

 

“ _Papá has a sword, too! A real one!”_

 

“ _Not at home,”_ Aramis specifies quickly after the boy has been reprimanded for once again interrupting the conversation. His grandmother has looked at Aramis as if keeping deadly weapons in their appartment was the worst idea imaginable. _“It stays at the gym.”_

 

“ _Has any of it been published?”_ He can't help but look at his daughter with appreciation once Aramis confirms it.

 

Porthos was rather adamant that they should buy a copy of the novel, even if it was expensive and Aramis was given a free copy anyway. Anything to be proud in the bookstore when Porthos fumbled with the pages to find Aramis' name printed on one, albeit among others and in disappointingly small characters. Which led to Aramis laughing at how cute his boyfriend's pouting face was as he kissed it better.

 

“ _It's_ La Pléiade _, if you want to look it up.”_ Anne has a copy of the book, too. Her mother perks up at this.

 

“ _That's a prestigious house.”_

 

“ _It is. I'm lucky.”_

 

“ _How did you get a position? It's not like you have a lot of experience.”_

 

She's scornful, watching him with interest, ignoring Anne's dark and angry eyes. There it is: the fawning tone which hides what she really thinks of him. He's not worthy of much. Aramis holds his head high. He may have gotten help to find a job, he's definitely earned his position from day one.

 

“ _My academic records spoke for themselves. And I was recommended by someone of great influence and importance. Athos' mother,”_ he tells Anne.

 

When she had been prepared to dismiss any explanation, this last bit of information sparks unexpected interest in his host. She stops eating for a while, pondering.

 

“ _I used to know a Countess of that name...It's probably just a coincidence.”_ She waves her hand, almost scoffs because Aramis cannot know her. How could he? He's nobody.

 

Aramis bites his cheek.

 

“ _Athos' mother is a Countess all right. He's Porthos' best friend.”_

 

Leaving his host speechless should make him feel bad. Instead, Aramis is proud. He's not the worthless man she imagined him to be. He has relations, he is acquainted with people she respects and all of a sudden, Aramis casts his apprehension aside. He's been unknowingly seeking to impress and he's achieved his aim. Perhaps not thanks to his own actions but whatever it takes so Anne's mother will finally accept him in her daughter's life.

 

“ _How is she doing? I haven't seen her in years.”_

 

Aramis shrugs.

 

“ _I don't know. I only met her once.”_ For dinner. To thank her for her help.

 

“ _Is her son still divorced?”_

 

“ _....yes.”_ Aramis narrows his eyes, but a scandal as big as the one Athos found himself into couldn't stay secret, he supposes. Not in such circles where gossip is key.

 

“ _He hasn't remarried, then?”_

 

“ _Mother!”_ Anne interrupts, aware of why the question is asked. Her brother bursts out laughing. Mati follows suit, not knowing why. “ _Athos already has someone, does he not?”_

 

She glances at Aramis for confirmation. He nods, and her mother tuts before returning to her food. Her husband redirects the discussion on subjects he's sure won't stir trouble. Not too much.

 

Aramis breathes out. Each time he dares look at Anne's mother at the head of the table, she's often staring at him, yet her eyes have somewhat softened. Her tone is never harsh for the rest of the meal. He has no desire to understand how her mind works, her motivations or beliefs, how ever stubborn they may be. Being tolerated and included like this is enough. A major step forward.

 

Anne's smiles are more genuine, more carefree. She's careful that Aramis should never be offended or found himself the target of ill comments even now. One good impression can't erase the years he's been ignored and criticized.

 

She follows her mother to the kitchen, under the pretence of helping her with dessert. The cake isn't homemade; being terrible cooks runs in the family.

 

“ _So?”_ she has to ask. They're silent, happy noises coming from the living room. Mostly Mati marveling about his toys and answering questions as excitedly as he can. Her mother takes a moment to consider it.

 

“ _He has connections,”_ she concedes.

 

“ _That's not what I asked. He's not the loser you were so resolute to believe he was, am I right?”_

 

“ _He's very good with your son.”_

 

“ _Ours.”_

 

“ _And he's polite and well-mannered. And I suppose he has a good situation after all. Which is enough to support the both of you.”_

 

“ _That's exactly what I've been telling you for years, mom. I can support myself very well, by the way. Thank you very much.”_

 

“ _He's no husband material, though.”_

 

“ _I don't need a husband to be succesful in life.”_ Anne rolls her eyes. She grabs the champagne and cake handed to her. _“Or to be respected.”_

 

Her mother disagrees, and yet she's smart enough to realize that her daughter will never share her opinion. During her pregnancy and after dating failed, Anne isn't sure she was actually disappointed by the outcome and the fact that Aramis wasn't going to marry her.

 

Anne's mother has seen her interactions with the man she brought along, how they act with the child At least, _this_ is a success. Anne looks content with them. Much more than her mother would have imagined. He's no prince, has no royal lineage or extraordinary lifestyle but Anne seems satisfied. She's grateful for that. It doesn't mean she'll start welcoming Aramis with open arms.

 

There's a concert of giggling greeting them in the living room: Mati trapped in Aramis' arms, being tickled mercilessly. With no idea what prompted the outburst, Anne rejoices in her father and brother watching the loving scene from the side, not saying a word, but chuckling instead. How amazing Aramis can be to focus solely on their baby to make his life memorable without caring about their audience.

 

Her mother almost sighs at the cute display of affection. Anne can't help but smirk. Her parents were wrong, she's known it all along and yet, being there when they realize their mistake is priceless.

 

“ _He has some qualities.”_

 

“ _Of course, he has.”_

 

“ _He nevertheless made you move to Paris. Far from us. We barely see you anymore.”_

 

“ _Nobody made me do anything. I'm my own person, mother_.” Anne refrains from saying that it may be a foreign concept to her mother who was married so young and hardly ever made a decision without having to consult her husband first. _“I moved so Mati could be closer to his father because_ you _drove him away in the first place. And I wasn't going to tear Aramis from Porthos to please you. I'm aware it's hard for you to picture it but they take spectacular care of Mati and I like them all very much.”_

 

“ _If it makes you happy....,”_ she ventures, doubting what her daughter just professed.

 

“ _It does,”_ Anne says firmly, facing her mother, her back turned on the sweet scene of Mati gasping for air, nuzzling Aramis' neck. _“And we won't talk about it anymore.”_

 

“ _Sometimes, your attitude lacks refinement, Anne.”_ It's a kinder scolding than expected.

 

“ _Aramis is a part of me, whether you accept it or not. And I'm done letting you reject him.”_

 

“ _We aren't, are we? He's here today.”_

 

“ _Where he should have been for years.”_

 

“ _Let's stay realistic, sweetheart.”_

 

Anne huffs dramatically, would throw her hands in the air if it wasn't for the cake and the bottle. There's no point in continuing further on a topic they'll never see eye to eye about. It might actually be beneficial for her to live hundreds of miles away.

 

So she takes her own advice and strides in the room, teasing Aramis for being breathless.

 

“ _Let him go, sweetheart,”_ Mati's grandmother urges him. _“Or you won't be able to eat dessert.”_

 

Mati squeals louder, half laughing and half gasping, wriggling in his father's arms. Aramis looks flushed as well, but simply shrugs once Anne has raised an eyebrow. He seems delighted amid strangers.

 

“ _Papá started it!”_

 

“ _I did not! Who launched himself at me with these terrifying fingers?”_

 

It apparently didn't register with Mati that his father hadn't been welcome within this side of his family before. It was a normal thing to do to play with Aramis as if nothing was wrong. It's been helpful. Aramis staightens his clothes, finding no disapproving look on anybody's face now that he's coming down from their mutual high.

 

“ _Cake, Aramis?”_

 

“ _Mati says you're quite the baker so I hope it'll hold up to your expectations.”_

 

This time, Aramis flushes with pride more than with exhaustion at being addressed directly to by both of Anne's parents. Without prompting from their daughter.

 

* * *

 

The countryside is silent, pitch dark when Aramis comes back to his parents' estate, impossible late that night. There was no distraction in the car, no one to talk to. It was an ordeal to remain awake in such circumstances but it wasnt difficult to say goodbye to Mati. He'll see him in a couple of days. Until then, Aramis will enjoy his boyfriend's company to the fullest.

 

There is no sound in the house either. The fire is dying in the living room. The dogs pad quietly to him to check who the intruder is but they hardly do more then whine a few times. Aramis doesn't try to stifle his yawns. He's longing for a warm bed and Porthos. He's missed Porthos.

 

Light is shining from somewhere at the far end of the corridor, though, so Aramis wanders there instead of making his way upstairs.

 

Porthos is sprawled in one of the giant armchairs in the sun room, surrounded by plants and bathed by the yellow halo. His shoes are abandoned to the side, a book lies open on his lap and the quilt he's clutching to his chest. One end of it is used as a mediocre pillow, his cheek cushioned on his hand.

 

It's adorable despite the discomfort it's bound to bring to his neck later. Face slack, eyes moving behind his eyelids. Aramis could gaze at him for hours, lost in the jungle his mother maintain. Except he's also tired so after kicking off his own shoes and taking his coat off, he snuggles close to Porthos.

 

There's a stirring then that Aramis quickly settles by petting Porthos' face, his hair, his chest. Sushing him.

 

“You're back,” Porthos slurs, blinking, reaching to wrap one arm around the other's shoulder. Aramis lets his boyfriend cuddle him.

 

“You're beautiful. I love you.”

 

“Love you, too.” It's another slur. Aramis kisses his cheek, his lips. Porthos' hand moves lazily to the long black curls. Aramis hums in the kiss.

 

“You weren't bored today, were you?” he inquires.

 

It was the reasonable thing for Porthos to stay behind but no one was pleased with the decision. Porthos shakes his head thoughtfully, closes his eyes to let Aramis trace the edge of his scar. Aramis loves it, loves touching and praising it. It's never made Porthos menacing. Quite the opposite. It shows how brave and wonderful his boyfriend is. How he can survive and beat anything. Anyone.

 

“I helped your father in his workshop. And Ali and I went for a run.” Aramis groans. Porthos squeezes his waist until he squirms.

 

“They gave me chocolates. As if I wasn't gaining enough weight as it is,” Aramis whines, swats Porthos' fingers patting his stomach.

 

“You're as handsome as you've ever been, 'mis.”

 

“Will you help me not gulf down the box?”

 

“By eating them all for you? Hey!” Porthos rubs the spot Aramis slapped playfully. The blanket is discarded, the book hits the floor as Aramis wraps one leg over Porthos' lap, moving closer to the comfortable heat his body provides.

 

“I still want to eat some.”

 

“One a day, then?” Porthos suggests.

 

“That sounds....reasonable,” Aramis agrees, dropping tiny kisses to Porthos' cheeks and neck.

 

“So....you survived.”

 

“I did,” Aramis sighs. “Thay may hate me less but I don't presume they like me more.”

 

He frowns, then proceeds to tell Porthos what happened, how glad he is to know Athos as it must have been the trigger to Anne's mother's change of heart regarding him. Porthos shakes his head angrily, amazed that people could be so stubborn, so ridiculous. He's nonetheless satisfied that Aramis faced them, given how much he dreaded the meeting.

 

“But I missed you, Porthos. Even if there were Anne and Mati with me. It just...didn't feel right.”

 

Porthos rubs at his eyes. He wasn't properly asleep and talking, hearing his boyfriend's voice, helps him see things more clearly in his drowsiness.

 

“You like it. Being with them.”

 

“I do. I truly do. I just....I don't know. I can't pinpoint what it was....It's confusing.”

 

Regardless of the trial he's had to go through, he was with two of his favorite people. A woman and a child he's used to spending days, weeks, living with. Aramis usually craves time alone with them. Something was off today.

 

He has a headache.

 

“I wish you'd been there as well,” he eventually whispers.

 

Porthos tightens his hold on him, dips down for another kiss. He tastes tobacco on the other's lips, on his tongue and everywhere inside his mouth. It's surprisingly heart-warming. An old smell which brings back early memories of when it was only the two of them. Two boyfriends without much responsibilities in Paris. Free to do what they wanted, whenever they wanted.

 

Porthos doesn't comment on the cigarettes. He keeps on rubbing Aramis' back, keeps on kissing him. There's a thumb caressing the side of his neck, lazy and slow. No chance of being interrupted right now. No desire to move or stop either.

 

Only Aramis wrapped around Porthos, in love. Home.

 


	8. January (Part I)

The car -it must be the car, no toy has been so irritating before- repeatedly bangs against the door. It's been a recurring noise disturbing Porthos' slumber for the past minutes. Along with the faint scolding which inevitably follows: Aramis asking Mati to be more careful and to let his stepfather rest. It's clearly not efficient. Whereas the men were exhausted, the child appeared on top of his game to start the New Year. Someone had to volunteer to stay up and watch him. Porthos was happy to be able to nap for a while.

 

Now, though, he groans loudly in the quiet bedroom. Annoyed that outside noises have awoken him. They aren't even nice ones. This racket is insufferable. He rolls over, buries his face in the pillow to cover his ears. But it's no use. His head still hurts so he would have been more than grateful if Aramis could have made his chid behave for a few hours. Obviously not.

 

The nap should have made up for lost sleep due to the New Year's Eve party, and allowed them to recover enough to handle the rest of the school break. At least for an hour.

 

There's complete darkness in the bedroom when Porthos opens his eyes, forced to do so because there's no point in trying to lie still anymore. He stretches on the crumpled sheets, sore muscles popping, feeling awkward from falling asleep in his clothes.

 

He grumbles at a bigger commotion against the door (the wall?) and Mati's screech. Aramis does raise his voice then, his reprimand followed by a half-hearted apology that Porthos wouldn't even have heard if he hadn't opened the door at the same time.

 

It's too bright in spite of the soft lightning and the car races in front of him, bumping into a chair, wheezing and bipping. Toy of the Devil.

 

Aramis is rubbing his temples, sprawled on the couch, a glass and a carafe of water at his disposal. It's a challenge to stay awake despite it being only late afternoon.

 

“I hate this car,” Porthos mumbles. Aramis raises his head, yawns as Porthos does exactly the same.

 

“Did he wake you up?”

 

“You think?”

 

Porthos scratches his beard, leans agains the doorframe. He's cranky. The child isn't helping. Neither is Aramis' offer of a drink and a kiss.

 

“I just hung up with Anne, by the way. She's feeling much better already.”

 

“It mustn't have been this serious, then,” Porthos says under his breath. He's heading to the safe retreat of the kitchen and the food available there. They probably haven't eaten since coming home from Athos'. He's starving.

 

“A stomach bug, perhaps. Something she ate? I don't know. Better safe than sorry, though.”

 

“He wouldn't have caught it if he had stayed with her, Aramis.”

 

“How can we be sure? I'd rather have him here with us than have the both of them sick.”

 

“You just said she wasn't.”

 

“She was feeling under the weather. I would have done the same.”

 

“What? Call her minutes before heading out and disturbing the long-made plans she had?”

 

“Are you calling Mati a disturbance?”

 

“Right now, well, yes. This raucous is driving me insane.”

 

“Sweetie, stop with the car for a sec',” Aramis calls out but the boy doesn't comply. Sighing, he cocks his head, studies Porthos and how irritated he looks. Sounds. “Do you have a problem? Are you mad at her?”

 

“We weren't supposed to have him for New Year's Eve. We were supposed to have fun with our friends.”

 

“Didn't we?”

 

“Of course but not like I imagined. I'd hoped for the two of us at midnight. Not for you having to lie down with Mati who was crying.”

 

“Well, shit happens when you have a child, Porthos. You can't hold that against me.”

 

“It's not your fault.”

 

“What then? Are you blaming Anne?”

 

Porthos groans, rubs his eyes and Aramis throws his arms in the air at the lack of a proper answer. His boyfriend is saying it all by not uttering a word.

 

“I can't believe you are! My God!”

 

“Excuse me for trying to stick to our schedule! What's the point in having one if we mess it up at any opportunity?”

 

“She was sick! Jesus, Porthos! What's gotten into you? Mati, for God's sake, enough with the car!”

 

Aramis throws one dark look at Porthos, letting him know that this isn't over, how ever stupid the other's arguments are. Fuming, yet relieved to have shared what he's been thinking ever since Anne called the previous afternoon and droped Mati with them in the middle of a week, Porthos watches a seething Aramis storm out of the kitchen.

 

Porthos' headache isn't helping their situation or his ability to organize his thoughts to calm down.

 

“We told you to stop! Papá has a headache and Porthos is....motherfucker!”

 

Any noise coming from the living room effectively cease after a louder and clumsier racket.

 

“Son of a bitch!” Aramis screams.

 

“Papá!” Mati looks outraged and shocked as Porthos strides to them, half wondering if Aramis would dare insult him so. It would be disproportionate given their fight. Completely out of character as well. Yet, his heart speeds up, ready to confront Aramis, to combust with rage. If he was tired before, Porthos isn't anymore.

 

“Papá said two bad words!”

 

Neither of them pay attention to the child because Porthos rushes to kneel by Aramis' side, down on the floor, both hands holding on to his ankle. He keeps on cursing, hissing when his boyfriend probs his foot.

 

“I tripped on the fucking car!”

 

“Papá!”

 

“Yes, yes, I know. It's bad. God, it hurts....Fuck!”

 

He chimes away from Porthos' touch. His eyes are shining with tears he can't hold back. The sharp pain is spreading, invading his foot, his leg, burning under his skin. It's difficult to breathe, even the tiniest move is like a thousand needles stinging at once. Like a cramp but ten times more powerful. Twenty times. It just won't stop.

 

Pressing his palms to his ankle to keep the pain there, to restrict it to one spot, to smother it: it's obviously useless and it hurts far more once Porthos forces him to let go. Aramis bites on his lip, hard. If he doesn't, he'll shout more obscenities. But staying still isn't an option as his body rebels against him. His brain shuts down to narrow on how he's dying and wants nothing but for this excruciating torture to disappear.

 

“I'll get you some ice,” Porthos decides, dashing to the kitchen, worried. Not mad anymore.

 

Aramis has started to rock back and forth. Mati pads closer to investigate on the problem and on instinct, Aramis withdraws on himself to prevent his son from touching him, hurting him further without meaning to. He regrets it at once. His ankle, his foot: they're on fire. He shuts his eyes tight.

 

“Papá? Are you hurt?”

 

One tear rolls down Aramis' cheek. He nods.

 

“Yes, but it'll be fine. Don't worry. Porthos is taking care of me.”

 

“What are you doing?” Porthos exclaims, almost dropping his bag of ice.

 

Aramis has somewhat made his precarious way to the couch in a desperate attempt at standing up. His boyfriend hurries to help him. Aramis winces at the arm supporting him. Even the simplest vibration of their short suffle makes him want to bawl. He gasps instead, collapses on the couch. His breathing is labored and Mati watches from the side, small fingers in his mouth.

 

It's all happened so fast. He's no idea what to do. His father is hurt, that much he understands. Seeing him cry is unsettling. His father never cries or if he does, it's because he's happy. He doesn't look happy at all tonight. The multiple swearing is peculiar, as well. _That,_ he cannot wait to tell his mother about.

 

Aramis leans against the cushions, head thrown back, his leg propped on Porthos' lap. He swallows curses every time warm fingers brush his swollen skin. It must take hours for his boyfriend to roll down Aramis' sock. These are the worst five minutes of Porthos' life. He has to inflict more pain on that poor man that he loves so much. Their argument sounds so pointless in the wake of their new problem.

 

“I didn't mean it. I'm not angry with Anne for being sick.”

 

“I know.”

 

The chat distracts Aramis from this unbearable burning sensation. So does the soothing freezing ice. Cold and wet. A stark contrast from how horribly purple his ankle is becoming.

 

Porthos feels hopeless, letting one hand clutch his shoulder with all its might. Aramis' face is contorted, brow creased in his torment. He cries out when Porthos shifts to sit back on the couch.

 

“Perhaps we should go to the hospital,” he suggests.

 

Aramis shakes his head. He's so tired. Everything hurts. His foot pulses, blood boiling in spite of the ice cubes.

 

“Let's wait a few minutes. Please.”

 

“It's really not looking good, 'mis.”

 

“It's purple and red. Yuck,” Mati describes.

 

“Yeah. That's what happens when you hurt yourself. Do you remember your arm last year?”

 

“You break _ed_ your foot?” the boy shrills, the realization of what's happened sinking in.

 

“I hope not. God, I hope not.” Aramis wiggles his toes, which was a stupid move because it intensifies the throbbing. “I hate this car, too,” he decides, attempting to lighten the mood. Porthos doesn't bat an eye, can't tear his face from how bad the injury looks.

 

Then Mati's lips start to quiver and he stomps his foot.

 

“It's my car! My...Papá! I'm sorry! Papá!”

 

The wailing startles Aramis out of his faze. Mati continues to blame himself, big tears on his cheeks until his father stretches to reach his arm and pull him close. It's like a stab in his leg that he fails to ignore as he kisses Mati's distress away, smoothes his hair and shushes him. True, if the toy hadn't been in the middle of the room, he wouldn't have fallen down. But he should have paid attention to where he was going. He's used to living with a child. Aramis knows there are as many hazards as there are toys.

 

It nevertheless takes some time for his son to calm down. He's still sobbing by the time he can concentrate on what he's being told.

 

“Hey, Mati, sweetie. We're good. You're good.”

 

The boy glances at Porthos who confirms it, yet suggests that he should put his scattered toys away while his father rests. This particular instruction has never been obeyed faster. They'll have to be stricter on it in the future.

 

“I'm such a klutz, sorry.”

 

Aramis has managed to sit up awkwardly, one arm around Porthos' neck, his forehead pressed to the other's shoulder. Compared to how wild his heart is beating, Porthos is a surprisingly and most welcome safe haven to rely on. His breathing is steady, his touch careful, be it on Aramis' ankle or rubbing the tension at the nape of his neck.

 

Porthos tuts at his boyfriend's self-blame.

 

“It could have happened to me. Or to Mati. You've nothing to apologize for either, 'mis.”

 

Aramis sucks in a breath, listens to his son picking up toys quietly. If he closes his eyes, it helps. To concentrate on his breathing, to count the seconds between each inspiration. It brings back old memories, bad ones from a time when he was still hoping to win Olympic medals.

 

“It's the same foot as last time,” he whispers, hating how the dull pain settles in his bones, aches, pulls at his skin. Porthos' hand squeezes his neck, the hair there. He drops a kiss on top of Aramis' head. He can't do more than be supportive and it's killing him. Aramis is in such obvious and strong pain. It makes his boyfriend want to claw at his body to set it right.

 

“I don't want it to be broken again.”

 

“There's only one way to find out. Should I get you a couple of painkillers before we head out?”

 

Aramis nods fiercely, wipes the fat tears away and groans when he has to move. But he loves how careful Porthos is. Every action takes forever. Such a big and concerned man going as slow as he can to avoid unnecessary discomfort. The pillow feels like a blessing after his foot rests on it. So does the cold towel on his sweating forehead. Or the hug Porthos gives him before helping him to his feet.

 

* * *

 

Mati has a book to keep him occupied while they wait in the ER. What else were they do? Porthos may have been upset, he certainly doesn't want the boy catching whatever his mother might have. If Mati used to wiggle and squirm on his seat for the first half hour, he's settled down a little now. The book hits Porthos in the face whenever they turn a page but letting the child roam wild in the waiting room was out of the question.

 

The story they tell Aramis is a captivating and effective distraction yet the pain is still there and he winces every time he has to sit up straight to prevent someone from tripping over his outstretched and injured leg.

 

It's taking forever. Porthos finds himself stuck with one tiny head on his right shoulder, yawning and requesting dinner, and Aramis' head on his left one. He's looking for comfort anywhere he can since he's not allowed to take more painkillers at present. If he closes his eyes, he can forget the dozens of people screaming, yelling, complaining, and focus on Mati's voice and Porthos' hand in his hair.

 

The sandwiches from the vending machine don't seem appealing but Mati loves them. It's like having a picnic inside. Porthos is starving as well. Food will help him stay awake. They're likely to be here a long time.

 

“Have you ever broken anything?” Aramis asks. Porthos ponders the question for a couple of seconds.

 

“Not than I can recall.”

 

“You're lucky.”

 

“I remember Charon breaking a few toes one night at the orphanage. He fell down dark stairs because he had to pee. He had a funny walk afterwards.” He chuckles and Aramis scowls. “Which I'm certain you won't have since it may not be broken at all.” He kisses the top of Aramis' curls.

 

“Will you have lollipops? I had lollipops last year after my cast. Yummy. Can I have candy?” Mati requests, pointing at the vending machine again.

 

“You're having yoghurt,” his father replies instead. He hands him the dessert they've scavenged at home and which was left from before Spain. “It's blueberry. Your favorite.”

 

“Blueberry! Yum!”

 

Mati sucks on the straw, taking in the sights and the people, holding on tight to Porthos who is starting to get sore from sitting for so long.

 

“You should go home,” Aramis advises him when almost another hour has passed and nothing has changed. Nobody's come to transfer them to a proper room, they haven't seen any doctor. Mati has become increasingly fussy, pulling on Porthos' hand while they strolled in the waiting room. Just for something to do. The child is now drowsing on his own seat, his head cushioned on Aramis' lap.

 

Porthos rolls his eyes, daring his boyfriend to suggest it again.

 

“Not gonna happen. I'm staying with you.”

 

“You have to work in the morning.”

 

“So do....”

 

“I don't think so, no,” Aramis cuts him off. “He'd be more comfortable in his bed.”

 

Mati is clutching the coat put on him to act as a blanket, tiny legs bent toward his chest. The odd setting isn't affecting him at all.

 

“He looks fine to me. We're fine here with you.”

 

Aramis' eyes shine with tiredness and they shut close as Porthos' rough fingertips trace the creases on the other's brow, down to his cheeks then along his jaw. They're gliding on the skin, hardly tickling. Soothing. Aramis sighs.

 

“Better?”

 

“Not worse. One hell of a way to start the year, am I right?”

 

Porthos kisses Aramis' pouting lips. He'd kiss him anywhere if it could help. Anything to stop the agony gnawing at Aramis' bones that he _knows_ his boyfriend is fighting hard to conceal. Complaining won't speed things up.

 

“As long as you're not a terrible patient,” Porthos teases.

 

Even though Aramis has been praying that it wasn't a fracture, given how swollen and horrible-looking the ankle is, it'll be at the very best a sprain. They'll have to care for it anyway. Aramis smirks, groans as he shifts and re-awakens the pain.

 

“Are you going to be my nurse?” Porthos looks so genuinely amused that Aramis pulls back. “I'm almost happy I got hurt then.”

 

“Shut up, silly.”

 

“Make me.”

 

It's cheesy and cliché and inappropriate for the setting. Among the people rushing back and forth, the sirens, the constant bipping of too many monitors, Aramis chooses to imagine that nobody is paying any attention to them. Because nobody is. If he was bleeding to death, they might have another attitude.

 

They're ignoring his pain, he's ignoring stares.

 

“I'm sorry I shouted at you earlier,” Aramis apologizes when he withdraws from the kiss, lips still brushing Porthos'.

 

“Yeah, I don't know what came over me either. I was tired and grouchy.”

 

“Let's blame it on the car?”

 

“Oh yes, definitely. I hate this toy with a passion. We should quietly dispose of it.”

 

“We wouldn't!” Aramis is too slow to understand the joking tone. “He'll grow tired of it in a few weeks, like he always does. I need to pee,” he realizes suddenly.

 

Porthos laughs out loud. Mati whimpers, opening lazy eyes once Porthos gathers him in his arms. But the chest is warm and comfortable, its steady rise and fall is familiar. It doesn't take him long to drowse again, hot breaths blowing in the crook of Porthos' neck.

 

He has to carry his adorable charge after a nurse comes to escort them to an actual care room with a bed for Aramis to finally lie down and alleviate the pain. There's even a chair for his boyfriend to sit in but he's done with sitting for quite a while. So he paces the bright room, lulling Mati to better sleep in spite of the racket in the hallway. There's a blanket drawn on the boy provided by the kind nurse.

 

She comes and goes, asks questions whose answers Aramis already gave when they first arrived. She draws a few tests then strides back saying that the doctor wants him to do an x-ray. A doctor the men haven't seen yet. At least the expected decision was made quickly.

 

The bed has been taken over by his son when Aramis eventually returns, feeling a lesser pain because of the few pills he's been granted.

 

“No, leave him!” he urges Porthos who wanted to clear the space for Aramis. “We can both fit.”

 

They do. The bed is big and Mati is small enough to curl onto his father's side without risking to injure him further. He does wake up a little, none the wiser that Aramis had left for half an hour.

 

“Any news?”

 

“Not yet. They said the doctor would come with the results as soon as they could. It's less painful, though, now. Or I may just be getting used to it.”

 

“Or these painkillers are really good.”

 

“Anyhow, I won't complain.”

 

“Papá?”

 

“Yes, sweetie?”

 

“Are you going to have another baby?” Porthos and Aramis frown above the child's head. His question is a sleepy slur. “Because you break _ed_ your foot and you made me so now you...”

 

“Oh no! No, Mati that's not how it works.” Aramis bites his cheek, enjoying the little boy's innocence and cleverness so late at night. They're making him do crazy things tonight. It's almost 10 pm. “I mean, yes, that's what we told you but....it only happens once, buddy. And I'm very, very happy it happened with you.”

 

“Me too,” Mati replies quite seriously. “I don't want you to have another baby.”

 

Porthos can't help but snort when Aramis laughs, ruffling the child's hair. He's being so good, so well-behaved. Exhaustion may play a part in it.

 

“He's funny.”

 

“He takes after his father.” Aramis winks, rubs his eye and tries to sit up more comfortably on the bed. “Besides, I don't think Anne would agree.”

 

His eyes flicker to Porthos who's slightly jerked on the chair at the name. He stands up, turns his back on his boyfriend. There's nothing else to do but talk to pass the time, Aramis decides.

 

“Porthos....you....you don't actually resent Anne for yesterday, do you?”

 

“Of course not.” Yet, it's too hasty and he won't even meet Aramis' gaze. He's too busy arranging the blanket on the sleeping boy.

 

“What is it you're not telling me?”

 

“It's nothing...it's ridiculous.”

 

“Nothing's ridiculous if it's bothering you. Please.”

 

“You might not like it.”

 

“All the more reason. Please, Porthos.” Aramis gets a hold on the fingers on his son's chest. Porthos clutches them, sighs.

 

“We have a routine and I like that. I feel comfortable in it. I know I can do great if things go according to plan. I don't like it when plans are changed. Especially important ones.”

 

“Why?” It's not an accusation. He's trying to understand. “You still do amazing things without a routine. We didn't have one in Spain.”

 

“That was a holiday. This is Paris. We take Mati from Sunday to Sunday. It's Thursday. When are we saying goodbye this time? On Sunday? On next Thursday? On next Sunday?”

 

Porthos breathes deeply, voice shaking a bit. Now that he's started, it's good to vent and confess what's making him insecure.

 

“These are simply dates, Porthos. No matter what day it is, you're doing a spectacular job and we love you for it. And he's staying with us until next Sunday. As planned.”

 

“It's just....we agreed on this schedule so he wouldn't be confused and I believe it's actually made me feel super safe. It's helped me.”

 

“It's helped all of us.”

 

“I do like Anne, though, you know.”

 

“I do. And so does she. She's trusting you with her baby, that's saying a lot. So much that she didn't think twice about calling yesterday. She just knew the both of us could handle Mati. We can handle anything. We're the best.”

 

“I like our routine,” Porthos repeats. “It keeps me focused so I can't mess up.”

 

“Porthos, sweetie. You need to cut yourself some slack. Could you have pictured it, one year ago? Becoming such an important person for him?”

 

They're holding hands above Mati's sleeping form. He's blissfully unaware of the conversation. Dreaming happily.

 

“As far as he's concerned, you're more than a friend,” Aramis praises. “You're his par...”

 

“Don't say it.”

 

“But you are,” Aramis presses on, adamant to convince and cheer up his incredible boyfriend. “On everything but paper, Porthos. You're his parent, like me or Anne. And he loves you. Adores you even.”

 

“I thought I was the one supposed to comfort you in your misery.”

 

Porthos tries to joke yet he chokes on his emotions because even if he's aware of his place and role regarding Mati, even if he knows how he's been acting for the past months, his heart drums at the compliment and unofficial title.

 

“We're a team, remember? An excellent one. The three of us.”

 

“Yeah. Thank you.”

 

“Such an exceptional one that soon, we won't even need a schedule to reassure you.”

 

“Let's not get crazy.”

 

Yet, Porthos hopes for such a change. Such a development. He doesn't want to be stuck in a routine. He thinks he can handle small disturbances. He's growing impossibly comfortable. He's nevertheless still a bit pissed that Anne robbed them of a couple of childfree days. Not that it matters anymore. He doesn't see much sex in their future with a sprained ankle.

 

Aramis nearly drops to his knees in relief once the long-awaited doctor greets him with the good news that no bone is broken. He's comforted and tired and now that he doesn't need a proper cast, all he desires is to lie down in hiw own bed and sleep the night away. The morning, too, hopefully.

 

The splint, he can handle. The crutches take some more time getting used to again. Aramis doesn't mind the doctor's certificate which makes him miss a few days of work either. On the contrary.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @Snow_Glory for the plot bunny. Thank you to my clumsy experience for helping describe Aramis' pain in great details.


	9. January (Part II)

The crutches aren't currently fulfilling their first and sole mission when Porthos comes home. He's here early than usual but he sure hopes that Aramis has been using them when he wasn't around. Another trip to the hospital for something which would actually be broken isn't on the list of things Porthos wants to do.

 

They're just sitting there against the couch while their owner is arguing in the kitchen. With the radio show or so it seems.

 

“What are you doing?” Porthos exclaims and regrets it at once. The unexpected shout startles Aramis who was balancing his weight on one leg, hopping in front of the open fridge. He grabs the door for support, almost slips because he isn't wearing any shoes. Until he's safe in Porthos' arms after he hands him the crutches.

 

“What are you doing here?” Aramis asks back, leaning against his boyfriend's chest. It's a nice surprise from his dull day. “You're early!”

 

“I wanted to spend some time with you. Since we can.”

 

Porthos kisses smiling, delighted lips, wraps protective arms around Aramis' waist. Aramis goes soft in his embrace, trusting the other to hold him close and never let him down. Porthos' hair and clothes are damp from the melting snow showering Paris today. His face is a bit cold, but it's growing warmer by the second. Aramis breathes it all in: this sudden comfort bursting the loneliness of his day. Porthos smells like the gym. He smells of sweat and exercise and energy drinks.

 

“I love that you're the boss.” Aramis keeps on kissing the other, nibbling on his lips, licking them, clutching a fistful of Porthos' coat after some arrangement so he wouldn't fall.

 

Porthos nods. He loves his job and yet, any chance that he has to come home early, any opportunity he has to spend time alone with his boyfriend: he grabs them.

 

“You should always be using these,” he advises sternly, glancing at the crutches. Dark eyes settle on Aramis who doesn't recoil. Instead, he shrugs.

 

“They were getting in the way.”

 

“Of what?”

 

“I'm making you breakfast for tomorrow morning. And lunch! And a couple of snacks, I suppose.”

 

Still in his faze to be reunited with his excited boyfriend even though it's barely been six hours since they've said good bye, Porthos finally takes time to scan the kitchen. It's a mess, more than usual when Aramis cooks. But it smells good. It's a curious mix of salty and sweet dishes. It makes Porthos' stomach grumble anyway. Aramis beams at the sound.

 

“You did all of this? By yourself? With your ankle?” Porthos is impressed. It's dangerous but it's a feat.

 

“I did. I do. I'm not finished.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Sometimes, Porthos remembers what it was like to live on take-out because his cooking skills were hopeless. He's improved with Aramis and yet, one of his guilty pleasures is indulging in all the wonderful food coming out of his boyfriend's recipes.

 

“I was done with work for the day and when I called they said they weren't going to send the courier because of the weather.”

 

“Working from home has its perks as well. Can you take a break, though? Or will something burn?”

 

“No, it's all fine for the moment.”

 

“Excellent.”

 

As soon as they're sitting on the couch, Aramis happily nestles against Porthos, his leg propped on the coffee table. Almost two weeks since his clumsy stunt. There's still some pain, duller and familiar now. Some sharp stabs from time to time. But he's getting used to it. What exhausted him the most was having to take care of Mati while handling his injury. He's relieved their week without the child will allow him to rest.

 

After his few days off work, Aramis came back to the publishing house for one day. To realize that having mostly a desk job wasn't comfortable, that his chair was hard, something he had never noticed before. That there wasn't enough space to spread his legs. So now, he works from home, close to his medicine, the couch and the cushions. It's nice.

 

Lonely. No one to chat with. Time to do much more, though, and when he's done, he gets to do other enjoyable activities.

 

“You're incredible,” Porthos compliments him, fingers lazily gliding up and down Aramis bare arm. Aramis sinks a little more against him. “Doing all this without being able to stand properly. It's reckless.” He smoothes Aramis' hair back so he can see his face and the sparkling eyes. Then the fingertips are back to the other's flesh, tickling. “But it's incredible. Let's just hope the food won't be ruined because of your acrobatics.”

 

Aramis tuts at the teasing.

 

“My food is always marvelous.”

 

Porthos laughs, dips his head to kiss the pouting lips. Aramis whimpers, surrenders to the wet tongue in his mouth. Licking and sucking. Greedy and hot. So are the fingers framing his face, firm on his cheeks, rubbing, pressing, pushing Aramis' head until it hits the back of the couch.

 

Porthos is looming above him, careful with the other's leg, extremely slow while he shifts to straddle Aramis who chases after his lips. His boyfriend obliges him, burying hands in Aramis' hair, caressing and putting his weight down on his lap. Only for a few seconds. Porthos doesn't want to hurt him. It feels good, though. For this short moment. It also does when he repeats the move. Once, twice, three times, waiting for approval.

 

Too busy being smothered with languishing kisses, Aramis can simply moan, his hands on Porthos' waist urging him to continue. To go faster. Because everytime he comes down, there's that pressure on Aramis' crotch that he hasn't felt in a week. It's been too long. He grips Porthos' shirt, meets his movements with tiny ones of his own.

 

Fabric rustle.

 

He's panting once Porthos licks along his jaw, sucks on his neck. Porthos hisses against his skin because Aramis' fingers have crept underneath his clothes, gliding on the toned flesh of Porthos' lower back, grazing the elastic band of his trackpants.

 

Two strong hands land on Porthos' ass, bringing him hard and close to Aramis, teasing above the loose clothing.

 

“Was that your plan for tonight?” Aramis is still guiding the movements, Porthos more than happy to let him take charge so he won't hurt him without meaning to.

 

“I thought dinner first, but yeah,” Porthos rasps.

 

The tip of his tongue touches Aramis' ear, sucks there. He enjoys the shivers running down his boyfriend's body. Porthos is half-hard in his pants, meeting the rutting hips, encouraged by Aramis' little pleased noises. How he purrs and sighs. How he rakes his nails up Porthos' back. A blazing trail. Until they settle on the hem of the shirt and it's out of the way.

 

Aramis' mouth instantly lands on Porthos' naked chest, kissing close to his heart and how fast it's beating. Porthos' moves are a bit erratic given the silky wet lips closing on his nipple, hand playing with the other. Teeth grazing, biting from time to time. The nipples are hard under Aramis' care. He laps at them, encouraged by how hard Porthos' cock starts to feel against his. Aramis is also wearing trackpants and he can feel _everything_.

 

He feels the jerky moves which grow steadier once Porthos gets used to the teasing. It turns him on so quickly, to have his nipples worshipped like that. Far more quickly with the help of the constant carresses on his stomach, under the waistband, against his bare ass.

 

Porthos groans, bucks his hips and withdraws when Aramis winces. But God, does it hurt to do so. He can't stop moving altogether.

 

“You all right?”

 

“Better than ever.” His naughty hands don't stop. With lust in his eyes, Aramis looks up at Porthos, high above him. It's thrilling and exciting. “Even better with no clothes on.”

 

“I wouldn't want to hurt you. I've never had sex with someone injured.”

 

“I'll show you. I've done some research.”

 

“Have you now?” Porthos pulls back more, sucks in a breath because Aramis is getting busy in his pants, kneading his ass, humming his answer. He beckons Porthos closer so he can assault him with kisses.

 

“As long as you're not opposed to being fucked.”

 

Porthos' heart stutters and he growls, pressing closer, tongue all the way down Aramis' throat. It's aggressive and passionate and they're done talking. What Aramis is painting sounds rather appealing to his boyfriend. Porthos is going faster now, moving on Aramis' lap, his cock hard from it, from the fingers teasing, pushing the clothing down.

 

It takes only seconds for Porthos to stand up, take pants and underwear off and be on his boyfriend again. Glorious, sweaty, naked body on top of Aramis, chest flushed against his once his top is off as well. Porthos gathers him in his arms, clutches his shoulders, won't stop attacking him with kisses.

 

He's thrusting against fabricc and that won't do. He can see how hard Aramis is, cock straining in his pants. He's groaning a little more in his boyfriend's mouth with each thrust. Muscles clench at Porthos palming him, feeling the cock jerk at the pressure. Wanting more. Aramis is panting.

 

“Let me take care of you first.”

 

As he says so, Aramis is slowly circling Porthos' hole. Too slow. So slow that it's what makes Porthos heave and grunt, gritting his teeth. He closes his eyes, effectively listening to his boyfriend all the more, and focusing on what's making _him_ feel good.

 

Aramis sucks on Porthos' lips, presses one finger inside, pushes and moves. He peppers kisses on Porthos' shoulder until his boyfriend drops his head on Aramis' and spreads his legs. Reclining on Aramis, skin rubbing and sticky.

 

Porthos is on fire, but it's a perfect one, bubbling so deep, hurting in a magnificent way. Aramis is whispering dirty things in his ear, telling him how much he wants to dive inside of Porthos.

 

How much he wants to stretch him but not too much _yet_. Not with his fingers. He wants his aching cock buried in Porthos' ass, thrusting and thrashing. He wants to hear Porthos' delicious cries at being filled by the pressing cock. He wants Porthos to go down on it, to sense it invading his being, suffocating him.

 

He wants to stroke Porthos' cock until he comes on his hand. He wants to tease and pull and brush his thumb over Porthos' wet cockhead. He wants Porthos to lick his fingers clean after he's come on them. He wants to taste Porthos' own come in his mouth when they kiss afterward.

 

“Fuck,” Porthos drawls.

 

Aramis is gasping for air, too. Dirty words are dangerous. Porthos is squirming on the fingers working his ass. His cock, long and hard and desirable, leaking, pulsing anytime it so much as brushes Aramis' bare stomach.

 

“Move. Turn around.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Porthos jokes, tongue licking the side of Aramis' mouth. Aramis shudders, lifts his hips to get rid of his pants and leaves them at his knees because he _knows_ it'll hurt to take them off entirely. He won't let his injury ruin sex.

 

His cock jerks when he strokes it, admiring the fine view of Porthos' ass in front of him. Aramis bites his lip, throws his head back, enjoys the pressure of both of his boyfriend's hands on his thighs. They're rough and esctatic, clutching.

 

“You're making me do all the work, aren't you?”

 

Porthos' back shivers at the fingers roaming it, settling on the nape of his neck. Aramis' cock skims against his ass. Light touches that Porthos meets eagerly.

 

Aramis chokes on his little laugh, swallows hard when Porthos sinks on his cock, settles there between his legs and doesn't move for a while. He's too engrossed in the sensations, mouth open and eyes closed that Aramis can't see from behind. What he hears is the low and long groan. What he feels are the nails digging in his thighs. Aramis grabs the back of the couch with one hand, puts the other on Porthos' hip.

 

“Good?” Porthos asks.

 

“Yeah.”

 

It's all the reassurance he needs: Aramis moving his hips up, enticing and horny. Desperate for movement. He yearns for friction even though for Porthos, it's already wonderful to have the other inside of him.

 

Sweat dribbles down Porthos' cheek in the scorching heat which intensifies every time he moves, ass clinging to sticky skin, pushing Aramis in deeper. It's never enough. Porthos' hands slip and grab his boyfriend's who sits up. It drives his cock further up Porthos' ass. Porthos moans, shouts out at the lips sucking messily his back. Aramis can't think straight either. Can't think at all. He'd give anything to see Porthos' face and yet he can picture it perfectly.

 

The closed eyes, scrunched in pleasure and concentration, the mouth open, shiny lips and the hint of a tempting tongue, begging to be used.

 

“I want to....kiss you.”

 

For a second, Porthos stays still to turn his head. And it's extremely erotic, to be sitting on Aramis' cock, to be fucked without moving. To feel it, big and pulsing and oh, so close to coming undone and yet not doing so. Porthos' teeth cling against the other's in a sloppy kiss. Until fingers creep around Porthos' cock, pull and caress. Up and down, up and down. And fondle his balls, skim his cockhead. Then they're in Porthos' mouth, urging him to taste himself so that Aramis can suck on those ravishing lips.

 

Porthos moans, blesses his boyfriend's dirty mind and resumes his actions. Aramis meets each thrust. Faster, thrashier, more powerful. He's struggling for air, unable to steady his breathing now that he's losing control. Porthos' ass is too soft, too warm, too inviting to avoid it. His balls bounce against Aramis' whenever he jerks up too violently. With his valid leg resting on the floor, Aramis traps Porthos close, traps his boyfriend on him, wraps one arm around the other's stomach as he comes inside Porthos.

 

His boyfriend's bulk has been driving him down, pressuring him and it's a sensation that Aramis craves, relishes in. His entire body is tingling with satisfaction. Bursting with it. He cries out as he comes, but it's muffled on Porthos' shoulder. He's shaking from neck to toes and his orgasm suppresses the annoying pain in his ankle. To soothe it, he tries to concentrate on his pleasure. How it fills his guts and his lungs. How blissful he is, cock pulsating inside of Porthos who's still moving and doesn't stop until he can feel Aramis come down from his orgasm.

 

Porthos can hardly catch his breath either but it isn't enough to prevent him from turning around once more. Aramis whines at the lack of contact, cock soft between his legs yet showing a tiny spark of renewed interest. Because Porthos is jerking off, standing tall between his legs. It's a brilliant show for his spent boyfriend. Dark fingers going fast, chest heaving, eyelids half-open set on Aramis' face, looking straight at him.

 

Aramis whines again.

 

“Wanna help?”

 

Porthos is smirking a little at the other's keen desire. High on his esctasy, Aramis heartily welcomes Porthos invading his space again, shifting on the couch so that he doesn't have to move much.

 

Porthos shudders at the wet and impatient lips sucking on his cock. He has to watch while it's swallowed by Aramis' mouth. The hands on his ass tease the sensitive flesh. His boyfriend can't be quiet blowing him and Porthos can't help but thrust deeper. Sex has already made him so incredibly hot that all these indecent noises are really triggering his own orgasm.

 

He clutches the couch, Aramis' shoulder, ramming into the other's mouth hard but hearing no complaint. There's a sneaky tongue circling, lips nibbling, one firm hand now stroking the base of Porthos' cock. He comes with a grunt and the sound of Aramis swallowing loudly sends tremors to his heart.

 

Porthos half collapses on his boyfriend, resuming their first position. Minus the clothes.

 

Aramis hums in the sweet kiss, lets his fingertips glide on the sweaty skin. Porthos shivers in spite of the heat. He smoothes Aramis' hair away from his damp face.

 

“I'd like to sample that dinner now.”

 

“Anything you want,” Aramis gladly complies.

 

Porthos isn't ready to let go yet, overjoyed in having his boyfriend in his arms, pleased and relaxed. Carefree and smiling lazily. Unaware of his injury for a moment. Lovable and in love.

 

The boyfriend Porthos always wants to have and cherish.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this [gorgeous ](http://uenaina.tumblr.com/post/142583993494) picture. Which is, of course, NSFW.


	10. January (Part III)

It smells like Heaven when Porthos comes back home that Wednesday night. He knew it would happen because you wouldn’t expect Aramis to deliver a cheap dinner to their friends even if he was injured but it takes his breath away anyway. And makes his mouth water. To his relief, Aramis is using his crutches, or at least he seemed to have been using them before since they are in the kitchen with them. But he’s presently sitting close to Mati who is helping make some green goo. 

 

It’s guacamole, Porthos decides after he’s kissed a small cheek and then his boyfriend’s lips and the taste lingers on both of the cooks. 

 

“I hope Ninon isn’t opposed to eating with her fingers,” Aramis ponders after everything is somewhat cleaner on the table and Mati is busy washing his hands at the sink. Porthos cannot help but steal some of the food simmering on the stove. Aramis swats his hand away, even if the huge grin on his face says that Porthos could help himself to more.

 

“I’m sure she won’t mind. She does give that refined impression but you’ve spent time with her before. She’s worse than I am sometimes.”

 

“True.”

 

“How’s the ankle?” Porthos has to inquire. Like he always does when he sees Aramis at the end of the day. One Wednesday afternoon with Mati is already a lot of work so with an injury...He’s grateful the dinner wasn’t cancelled, though. Aramis was quite adamant that nothing should come in the way of their plans, especially those which include Athos. Or any friends of Porthos really. 

 

Porthos’ apprehension about their schedule has registered with him, and for the past weeks, Aramis has been very careful with it. He even declined Anne’s offer to take Mati with her more often so he could nurse his ankle and be more relaxed. If they want to maintain some balance, they have to accept that life can sometimes take unexpected turns and they just have to deal with it. Porthos is more than thankful for it. 

 

Seeing Anne during the weekends is nice nonetheless, like seeing a good friend. A close one. Spending Sunday afternoons at the park or watching movies is good. Because Sundays are days to do nothing in particular and the woman is just another person to add to the list of those Porthos is comfortable spending time with. As long as they respect the weekly schedule. And as long as he gets to spend nights alone with his boyfriend without any interference. He needs those. They are still the moments he craves the most and lately, he’s been missing them. 

 

He can’t blame anyone for it. Life is hectic and everyone’s too busy. Still, he relishes in small stolen minutes like right now. When Mati has disappeared to his room because he wants to draw for their guests. Athos is a fellow artist after all. And Aramis leans forward on his crutches, all smiles and tired eyes and gives Porthos a long, intimate and hot kiss. Tongue sweeping in the other’s mouth. Slow and thorough. And Porthos’ hands are strong on his back, rubbing through the fabric of Aramis’ thin tee-shirt. He’s bound to catch a cold. It’s January after all. 

 

“My ankle’s fine,” Aramis eventually replies. “It hurt on the way back from the school and shopping was a pain but…”

 

“You should have let me do it yesterday.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Aramis concedes. Shopping with crutches,  _ and _ a small child to handle at the same time, it was a nightmare. Porthos puts one stray lock of hair behind his boyfriend’s ear, comments that he should get a haircut, receives a dark scowl in return and laughs. Goes off to set the table. 

 

Ninon has been in England for a few weeks, has actually spent the holidays over there and was only back briefly for New Year’s Eve. It was plain to Porthos on that night how much Athos had missed her.  _ Was _ missing her. He wasn’t even trying to hide it, constantly seeking her in the crowd. So much that Porthos hardly had a moment alone with his friend to talk. It reminded him somewhat how Porthos was with Aramis at the beginning. How they still behave most of the time when they are allowed and no one else requires their attention. But for Athos, it’s new. Porthos hasn’t seen him so smitten in years. 

 

Now that they are getting used to living with a child, that they have their evening routine under control, they can afford some slight changes to it. Not that anyone is complaining tonight. Mati is more than happy to be able to eat dinner in his pjs. To eat dinner with his hands. He can choose what to put in his tortilla, he gets to drop most of it in his plate and it only makes the adults laugh. Because they are doing the same. He also gets to try a tiny bit of that sauce Porthos is drowning his food in. Because if  _ Porfos _ eats it then surely he should do it, too. Aramis can’t help but marvel at how adorable his son’s scrunched face is, even if it means that he hates the taste. 

 

“Eat some bread,” Ninon advises but Aramis is already on it. 

 

In the end, she is delighted to eat with her fingers as well. She knows a lot of people in Cambridge and yet, she’s missed everyone. She’s missed her grumpy boyfriend who never wants to let her go take a plane, or even go back to her own appartment in the city. She’s missed nights with her friend and if it includes his new family, she’s more than happy to witness their love and affection. 

 

“I’ve missed your food, Aramis.”

 

“I’ve hardly done anything. It all came in the box.”

 

“It’s still very tasty.” Everyone at the table nods to agree, Athos busy drinking his wine, and Porthos busy stuffing his face. He wipes his hand before putting it on Aramis’ thigh. Aramis beams at him. “You should come and cook for me in England.”

 

“What? Do you want me to starve?” Porthos gulps down his mouthful. Athos has missed Ninon’s laughter. She’s only back for a couple of days. He hates it. He would never have thought he’d miss another being so much. He even misses their fights.  _ Healthy arguments _ . 

 

“Come on. I’m sure the food isn’t so bad.” Aramis pats Porthos’ arm to reassure him that he’d never abandon him. He hands him the plate of tortillas so he can make another one. Porthos is still eyeing Ninon, but at the same time, he cannot help but look at his best friend sitting by her side, eyes for her only. 

 

“I barely have time to cook myself, though. And the cafeteria food at lunchtime isn’t what I want to live on.”

 

“Ah yes. Universities don’t excel there.”

 

“My school has good food!” Mati chimes in. There’s never been a rule in this house that he shouldn’t interrupt grown-up conversations, partly since Aramis loves hearing everything his son has to say at any time and Porthos finds it funny. Most of time. So far, the only place Aramis has seen such a rule was in Anne’s parents’ home and he found it a bit repressive to stop a child from talking if he wanted to. 

 

“Does it now?” Ninon asks and it springs a long list of everything the boy can remember eating for the past month. Along with the nice ladies who help him with his meat and who sometimes can be very bad when they force him to eat his veggies. 

 

“Can I have candy?” Mati eventually demands after taking a big breath. His plate is mostly empty. Everyone else is stuffed and even the promise of the excellent cake that their guests brought isn’t appealing right now. The child nevertheless remembers that he was gifted some sweets when Ninon arrived and for that, certainly he must have room left. Not at 8 in the evening, no. 

 

Aramis tells him just this, distracts him from his incoming tantrum by mentioning the drawings which are still in Mati’s bedroom. Athos doesn’t quite know what to do with them when they are in front of him. A mess of colours and objects. Of stick figures which clearly represent something, or someone, but what, or who, he has no clue. Porthos would say that Mati is improving, but simply because he’s seen his masterpieces from last year. 

 

Mati is obviously waiting for something, praise more likely. Athos is the man who made that gorgeous photograph/painting of his father and Porthos which is on display in the living room. He’s talented. But Athos is speechless, studying the papers intently. Until Ninon leans against him, one hand on the small of his back. She’s practically sprawled on him, taking a good look at the child’s works of art and his big eyes, waiting. 

 

Porthos smirks, reclining on his seat, his own arm around Aramis’ shoulders. But  _ they _ ’re used to it. They’ve never refrained from touching one another, be it at home or in public. From the very first night they’ve spent together. To see his best friend not in the least offended by Ninon half-lying over him, her hair in his face while she compliments Mati’s remarkable use of color and requests Athos’ specific vocabulary to help, it relaxes Porthos. So does the quick kiss Athos gives her when she straightens on her chair, satisfied. 

 

“Who would have thought you could miss someone this much?” Porthos says, leaning forward on the table, taking advantage of Ninon helping Aramis with plates for dessert in the kitchen. Athos runs his fingers through his hair, considering the obvious. 

 

“It’s a strange feeling to have, because it’s me. I’ve been used to being on my own for years. And now...The more she stays in England, the more I hate it. She’s flying back tomorrow.” 

 

The way he says it makes it sound like it’s a national crime. An outrage when he’s starting to get comfortable in their relationship. They’ve been together for some years, but it’s never really been official and Ninon has always accepted this at the beginning. And yet, for the past months, everything has been changing. Athos in particular. He hardly realizes it, but she’s noticed everything. She couldn’t be more thrilled by it. 

 

It terrorizes Athos a little. Last time he gave too much to a woman, she used it against him, broke his heart, even though he’ll never admit  _ that _ and she shattered his trust in others. Perhaps this time it’ll be different. It has to. He’s not jumping into a marriage head first. He never wants that again. Perhaps he wants to change. He wants to get better. He wants to have the kind of joy Porthos shows whenever he is with Aramis, whenever he talks about Aramis and all the little things he likes about him. All the little things which annoy him but that he couldn’t live without. 

 

Porthos sees more after Mati has gone to bed and he escorts their guests back into the street. Such ease in their interactions and it hits him in the cold of the night that he hasn’t heard Athos complain once during the evening. Porthos is grinning like a fool, jogging back up. 

 

“Leave these dishes for the night, Aramis. You’re going to break a leg!” Porthos exclaims, because his boyfriend seems to have had the clever idea to clear the table by himself. Porthos does dislike not doing the washing-up right away since then everything simply sits in the kitchen and he likes to have some cleanliness where he lives. Not when it could be so hazardous, though.

 

“Haha, you’re funny. You were gone for so long, I thought you’d abandoned me.” He pouts, lets his boyfriend gather the plates and put them in the sink. Then he wraps his arms around Aramis, hugs the life out of him, for no reason in particular. Any thought of washing dishes is forgotten. Instead, Aramis buries his face on Porthos’ chest, hops a little until he’s gently pushed against the counter and can rest his weight there. 

 

“I’ve got a crucial question for you,” Porthos declares out of the blue. The mischievous look on his face sparks great interest. “Brittany or Normandy?”

 

“What?”

 

“Brittany or Normandy? You pick.”

 

“For what?”

 

“I’m taking you away for a weekend. Athos says both houses are free. Where do you want to go?”

 

A large smile is breaking on Aramis’ face and for a moment, the only answer he can give is a sound kiss. His heart is bursting with appreciation and love and he can’t find his words to express what he is feeling. Such a simple question and he’s losing it. He doesn’t care where they are going. He only cares that Porthos had the idea to ask him, to organize this for them. He knows next to nothing about the details but it doesn’t matter. He’s excited. So is Porthos, if the grin on his face is any indication.  

 

“Normandy is closer, isn’t it? Less time on the road.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought but I wanted to be sure. Normandy it is, then.”

 

“Thank you, Porthos,” Aramis all but squeals.

 

His boyfriend happily surrenders to the assault of kisses, strong arms preventing Aramis from losing his balance. There’s a tiny purr at Porthos’ fingers stroking Aramis’ neck. These moments he also enjoys tremendously: once Mati is in bed and they can touch, kiss, talk nonsense to each other. 

 

“Are we going this weekend?”

 

“We’ll have Mati.”

 

“And I could even ask….” But Aramis stops short. Porthos’ smile lessens in a split second and his eyes turn darker. He’s read too much too fast it would seem. Realizing his mistake he’s quick to correct it.  “Right. It’s a romantic weekend, isn’t it?”

 

Porthos shifts on his feet, avoids looking at Aramis for a while. He sighs. Aramis can  _ hear _ the hint of disappointment in his boyfriend’s voice and all of a sudden, he hates himself.

 

“Yeah. I mean…”

 

“No, no. Romantic is good. Being alone with you is excellent, Porthos. I love you. I want it to be just the two of us. Forget I even said it. I want to spend time alone with _ you _ . I’ve missed it.”

 

“I’ve missed it, too. I’ve missed you. I was thinking we could go for Valentine’s Day? Since it’s a Sunday this year. I know we said we wouldn’t celebrate it but I just felt that….lately our life has been all over the place and I really want to have you just for myself.”

 

He loves Mati, he likes spending time the four of them, just like Aramis was going to suggest, because it seemed like a pleasant opportunity. One that his boyfriend would have clearly enjoyed. At times, Porthos wonders if Aramis doesn’t like it more than spending time just the two of them. Then, he’s reminded of the contrary. With shining honest eyes looking straight at his soul like Aramis is doing it right now. With professions of love that Porthos is the best, that he is so important in the other’s life and that Aramis is lucky to have found  him. There doesn’t appear to be one ounce of regret in Aramis’ words and that’s a comfort. 

 

“I want to be with my boyfriend. Just with my boyfriend,” Porthos adds. “I need to be with you for two whole days and not have to worry about anything or anybody else.”

 

“And it sounds like a lovely prospect and I cannot wait. I may even be rid of those.” He points at his crutches. 

 

“I know,” Porthos grins, doesn’t scold or tut when Aramis hops a little closer and wraps his own arms around his waist, crutches effectively forgotten by the side. It’s not safe and the tiles have always been slippery. That’s how Porthos soon finds himself sitting on a chair, Aramis graciously sitting on his lap. 

 

“I love you, Porthos.”

 

“I feel like we haven’t had a moment to ourselves in months, you see? And that was bound to happen. I mean everything has changed.”

 

“We’re adjusting fine, aren’t we?”

 

“We are but….do you know what I realized? That we’ve been together for almost two years…” Aramis cuts him here to dip his head down and kiss him sweetly. His lips and his cheeks and his lips again. Porthos is chuckling but definitely not asking for the affection to cease. If he could be trapped in this moment forever, he would. 

 

“...and in all this time, we haven’t taken a proper vacation only the two of us. We’ve been to Spain but all your family was there. We’ve been to the country but our friends were there.”

 

“We did things together.” Aramis is frowning, racking his brain. “We went to Vaux-le-Vicomte for the Easter Egg hunt last April, don’t you remember?”

 

“I do.” It’s a sweet memory. It sounded ridiculous for two grown men to do such a thing and yet it was another thing Porthos had never done when he was a kid and it involved a castle so of course Aramis was squeeing about it. It was a fun day. 

 

“And we’ve gone to concerts and we saw that great humorist last summer.”

 

“The one that made you spit your drink on that poor woman? Yeah, I remember. But these were just a one-day thing. I enjoyed every single one of them, ‘mis. I truly did. But they weren’t actual vacations.”

 

Aramis stays speechless, and when it dawns on him that Porthos is correct, he suddenly feels awful. He’s horrified by his boyfriend’ realization. How is it possible? To feel so good with someone and never have gone anywhere with him? True, in their short time together, their lives have changed greatly and adjusting to these changes took a lot of energy and time off. Besides, the city has so much to offer that they often didn’t see the need to leave it to have fun together. Correcting this neglectful part of their relationship sounds rather urgent. Appealing. Even more than five minutes ago. 

 

“I can’t believe it! That’s not….that’s unacceptable!”

 

Aramis sounds outraged. Porthos can’t help but chuckle at how cute he is, frowning and hair falling on his face. 

 

“My point exactly. So I want to steal you for a few days so we can forget our problems and focus on  _ us _ .”

 

Aramis’ answer is once again more kisses, pressing on Porthos’ lips, hands clinging to his boyfriend’s neck. He wants to be close, impossibly closer. He wants to show Porthos that even though he’s never stopped showing it, or saying it, he loves him all the more for his attention and his efforts and his surprise. 

 

The family holiday is completely out of Aramis’ mind who starts to ask about the state of the house, where it is located, what they can do there, if it’s close to a beach. And if the bed is nice. 

 

Porthos’ heart is at ease from it. Also knowing that his boyfriend feels the same about their situation is a comfort. It baffles him that despite their problems and everything that life has been throwing at him, he can still be hopeful. Athos isn’t the only one who has been changing. Really, thinking back on his previous life shows him just so. He used to not bat an eye if someone dumped him via text message because what else could he expect from people? Nobody truly cared about him. Or he would break up with someone else because of some minor issue he didn’t want to bother with. It would be impossible now. If so, he would have ditched Aramis a hundred times. Except he doesn’t want to. 

 

He’s eager to work it out. Always. Every time. Aramis has helped him more than anyone else has ever done in his life and living without him terrifies Porthos. He doesn’t know what he would do. He doesn’t want to dwell on it. It’s better to concentrate on their love, their happiness, all the memories they’ve made and are going to create. 

 

* * *

* * *

Athos and Porthos pay attention to the football game on TV for about 15 minutes. They eat their pizzas and they drink their beers like they always do. They comment on the players and the possible transfers they’ve heard of and what a shame it would be for their team if it actually happened. Athos sits properly on the couch like he always does. Porthos is sprawled in his own corner like  _ he _ always does, with no one to keep him warm. Aramis has stayed at home with Mati. Which is good. Football nights belong to the best friends. No need for a tiny child to ruin the match with shouts and squeals. 

 

The game isn’t that interesting tonight, though. They may be prominent teams for the French championship, nothing is happening so far. And although Porthos is spectacular company and his remarks have never failed to crack Athos up, his head and heart aren’t in the game on this Friday night. 

 

For three days Ninon has spent literally every minute of her free time in his loft and he’s missing it. But he won’t admit it because they don’t gather to talk about their love life. They meet to have some fun and watch TV and be men and really, missing a woman who has only be gone one day is ridiculous. The way he sighs and shakes his head and drinks far less than usual is what prompts Porthos to inquire about the problem. 

 

“Missing her?” he asks casually, glancing to the left to see Athos start a little. Porthos takes a sip of his drink. 

 

“She’s been gone one day.”

 

“So? You’re allowed to miss her even if she’s gone one hour. I miss Aramis most of the time. I’m missing him right now.” He shrugs. He stopped worrying about it a long time ago. “It’s all right to do so.”

 

Porthos shifts on the couch to look straight at his best friend who is fidgeting on his spot, stroking his beard as he mulls this. 

 

“Well….I guess I am, then.”

 

“That’s good!”

 

“Excuse me? I’m feeling miserable and you think it’s a good thing?” He glowers but it doesn’t deter Porthos.

 

“I do. It means that you’re finally allowing yourself to be happy and it was about time.”

 

Porthos reaches out, punches Athos’ shoulder lightly and they miss the first goal of the night. It wasn’t an impressive one, they decide over the replay. 

 

“So what’s next?”

 

“What do you mean what’s next?”

 

“Well, you’ve been together for what three years? Four years?” Such a long time and Ninon has shown such patience. She better be well-rewarded. 

 

“I won’t get married again.”

 

“Of course not. That’s not what I had in mind. But...I don’t know….moving in together or something? This place is huge and stop me if I’m wrong, but she’s almost always here.”

 

“When she’s in Paris,” Athos reminds him bitterly. 

 

“Ah. You don’t approve of Cambridge?”

 

“I’d approve of anything that’s good for her career. I mean, look at all the times she’s had to put up with me because I was too wrapped in my projects and couldn’t clear time to see her.”

 

“If it had been me, I would have ditched you. Oh wait, that’s what  _ you _ did. Three? Four times?”

 

Athos scowls and chugs down his beer, reaches for a second bottle on the table. He’s silent for a few minutes, munching on a slice of cold pizza and trying to follow the game. But it’s a commercial break so especially not him can fake to be captivated by these. In the silence which settles, Porthos is almost worried that he’s gone too far: he’s aware how sensitive his best friend is about his feelings and how he expresses them. Rejecting Ninon always meant that he cared about her. Still, shaking him up and making him hear unpleasant yet true facts is what Porthos believes Athos needs to move on completely. 

 

“I’ve always apologized nicely for it. She understands. I do think it’s a blessing I fell for someone who studied psychology and actually teaches it.”

 

“You fell for her, eh?” Porthos is smirking, bumping the other’s shoulder as he stands up. Athos kicks him in the leg and gets hit in the back of the head. “It only took you half a decade to do so. Well done.”

 

“Shut your mouth, Porthos.” 

 

But Porthos can’t help chuckling, mainly since he’s perky about the conversation and Athos’ epiphany. It only gets better afterwards. 

 

“I think I’ll go to England,” Athos declares. Porthos does do a double-take then. It takes a moment for him to find an appropriate reaction. Let alone an answer. He downs his beer while Athos does the same. It may sound like a hasty decision, he’s been thinking about it for days if not weeks. 

 

“I didn’t sleep last night,” Athos then confesses in one breath. He’s been bone-tired all day long so the alcohol is going to his head fast. Porthos almost doesn’t hear the quick whisper over the TV and the chirpy music and the cheering. His best friend is bold enough to repeat it. 

 

“I didn’t sleep because I think I was in withdrawal.”

 

“Of Ninon? How did you cope all the other weeks when she wasn’t there then?”

 

“It’s never been an issue before. She’s been in Paris since fall last year and I suppose it was the longest period of time we got to spend together without taking breaks too often. It must have made me see how good I felt with her. December was terrible. My mother told everyone I was dreadful at Christmas.”

 

“Yes, she did,” Porthos agrees, remembering her text to wish him a Merry Christmas. Sitting back down, close to the other, he studies him. Athos has always had this tired look on him, from spending too many nights working. Inspiration cannot wait when it strikes. 

 

Athos had plans in Paris, for him  _ and _ for Ninon but her schedule changed (symposiums and seminars that were added to it) so it turns out that she may not be coming back to Paris as soon as he had wished. And frankly, that is unacceptable. When she told him that it was confirmed yesterday, of course Athos didn’t voice his disapproval, but he certainly grimaced, enough for Ninon to remark upon it. Thus the following fight and the wretched night. 

 

“She has no idea I plan on going, though. Do you think she’ll like it?”

 

Porthos refrains from rolling his eyes until he remembers that Athos needs those sorts of displays to get moving and so he does. But he’s also smirking doing it. 

 

“You’re changing into quite the romantic! You might want to call her beforehand just to be sure that you’re not stranded on her doorstep when you get there and she’s gone somewhere else, but yes. She’ll  _ love _ it. I won’t, though.”

 

“It wouldn’t be forever, Porthos. Who knows how long we could actually handle living together?”

 

“You’ll make it work. Aramis and I do and you wouldn’t believe how messy and disorganized he can be at times. I’m proud of you, Athos,” he adds, reaching for his best friend and trapping him under his strong arm, wrestling him until he stops squirming. 

 

Athos puts up a fight, trying to avoid the hand rubbing his scalp but then his face gets almost smashed against Porthos’ chest and all he can breathe is the fabric of the other’s shirt. All he can hear are the giggles above his head and all he can feel (among other really despicable and annoying things) is the hand tickling him. His best friend is a menace. Athos is out of breath by the time he manages to kick his way out of the death trap. 

 

“How old are you?” Athos eventually gasps out. 

 

“Same as you.”

 

“And I can’t blame it on living with a child because you’ve always been such a monster.” 

 

Porthos’ eyes merely shine with smugness at being insulted. Coming from Athos, it’s more a friendly term than an insult. 

 

“I’ve half a mind not to give you the key to Etretat for your troubles.”

 

“Ah yes, about that. I had a question.” He releases Athos, lets him straighten his clothes and scamper to his own safe side of the couch before Porthos allows himself to speak again. “How many bedrooms are there in this one? I always mix them up.”

 

“Why? Aramis and you can’t stand to sleep together anymore? You could have fooled me.”

 

“Hilarious. No. But I want to know, you know. Just in case. If we ever want to take Mati and Anne there.”

 

“Is that your idea of a romantic getaway? Geez. And I thought  _ I  _ didn’t have a clue about romance.”

 

“Shut up, Athos. I’m only asking.”

 

Aramis’ misunderstanding from two nights ago did spark some confusing questions in Porthos. Because he’d seen the hopeful and delighted flicker in his boyfriend’s eyes at the time and he doesn’t know what to do about it. Porthos wants to please Aramis, but he also wants to keep him all to himself for a while. 

 

“It’d be big enough for all of us: Flea, Charon, Alice and us if we wanted. And my brother goes there in the summer with the children so I’m pretty certain it could handle the four of you.”

 

“Thank you.” Porthos has no idea what he’ll do with the answer but it’s always an option for the future. Anything to spark Aramis’ joy. Mati is exuberant and Porthos does rejoice in it after all. Then, the decision is made for him.

 

“Speaking of Valentine’s Day….”

 

* * *

 

 

His appartment is silent when Porthos comes back later at night. It’s dark as well, except for the light glowing from under the bedroom door. He’s glad Aramis is awake. He’s waiting in bed, a glass of wine by his side, laptop on the bed. His hand buried in the package of Mati’s sweets. 

 

“What will he say when he finds it empty?” Porthos asks, closing the door slowly and stalking to his cheerful boyfriend and his sugar-coated lips. Aramis grabs a handful of Porthos’ sweatshirt to keep him close. Porthos is careful sitting on the edge of the bed, as far away from Aramis’ ankle as he can.

 

“What do you mean? He ate all of them, didn’t he? I never touched them!” Aramis fakes surprise and his lie sounds so honest for when he’ll deliver it to the child that Porthos has to laugh. He steals some, too. Too sugary. 

 

“I’m glad you’re awake, ‘mis.” Porthos steals some wine, too and has to pour some more from the bottle when his boyfriend pouts that the glass is almost empty. 

 

“Do you have juicy gossip about Ninon and Athos?” Aramis straightens against the headboard, eyes full of interest. Porthos kicks his shoes off, gets more comfortable, as close to Aramis as he can, one hand strong on his boyfriend’s good thigh. 

 

“Later, yes. I’ve a question first.” He hesitates on how to phrase it so it doesn’t lead to trouble and fighting. He forces his voice to be even but the answer is kind of important, vital perhaps. He dreads it a little. “Why did you want to go with Anne and Mati on our weekend?”

 

“Did I upset you?” Aramis asks back.  _ Of course he did. Idiot.  _

 

“For ten seconds, yes. But then it was all right because you do want to go just with me.”

 

“Absolutely. Always. I love being with you, Porthos. You’re my sexy beast.”

 

Porthos has to snort. Aramis tries to lighten the mood by a soft lopsided grin hardly visible under the mass of curls falling on either side of his face as he tries to peek at Porthos’ eyes hidden as he hangs up his head. Aramis tugs on his fingers and feels relieved when Porthos clutches them. 

 

“Can you answer the question, then? I’m curious.”

 

“I don’t know...Maybe…I don’t know, Porthos. I’ve always enjoyed spending time with them on vacation when we can relax and forget how stressful life actually is. But I get the same feeling when I’m with you. All the time, even. So that’s better. To look at you and know that anything can be resolved. Because we’ve done our fair share of working over problems.”

 

“Which is great.” They’ve grown so much together in their months as a couple. It still amazes Porthos. “I’ve never had anyone like you.”

 

Aramis relishes in the honesty of words he’s heard before. They’re always a reassurance. He loves how comfortable Porthos is, how hard he strives to make everything work as best as they can. 

 

“You’re accepted them and so quickly, Porthos. I love you all, you know that. And now, I’m really fond of moments when we can be the four of us.”

 

“More than when it’s only us two together?” 

 

Aramis is fast to suppress the apprehension always present in Porthos’ tone whenever they discuss this specific topic. 

 

“No! I don’t… I don’t think so….It’s different. I don’t love you the same. It’s a bit disconcerting…. I  _ want _ to go just with you, Porthos. I truly do. Please don’t think that you’re less important to me because that’s not true. I shouldn’t have suggested it in the first place.”

 

“You didn’t, ‘mis. And I’m not mad. Truth be told, I’m a little bit confused, too. You see, I quite like Anne and she’s funny when she loosens up. She might deserve a vacation as well. Life hasn’t been gentle on her either, lately.”

 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to her about it,” Aramis agrees. “It’s not good for her to withdraw on herself.”

 

“Do you think she’d like to come with us to Normandy?”

 

Aramis is speechless, puzzled by the turn of the conversation. Porthos is somewhat comforted in his idea that his boyfriend can’t quite compartmentalize his life or feelings yet he’s trying very hard, resolute not to make the mistakes he’s made in the past. 

 

Now that Porthos has the solution to satisfy everyone, including his alone time with Aramis, he has no desire to argue over the other’s conflicting emotions for the different persons he loves. Especially since Porthos can’t quite understand his own either. 

 

“But it was a romantic surprise and now you….I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?” Aramis sounds clearly upset. He relinquishes Porthos’ fingers to flail his arms in a dramatic gesture. If he’s angry at someone, it’s at himself for being such a pitiful boyfriend who neglects Porthos’ needs in favor of his own.  _ Idiot. _

 

“You haven’t ruined anything, ‘mis. Sssshhh. Here, have some wine and calm down.”

 

Aramis obeys, spills some on his pj top and Porthos wipes the few drops lingering on his boyfriend’s mouth. Aramis oftens gets flustered whenever he realizes he’s ignoring the other, which is at once a good and a bad thing. A good thing because it means he’s eager to please Porthos, to make him comfortable, to show him how essential he is. And a bad thing because it sends his heart and mind into terrible reckonings which lead to nothing. 

 

“I love you, ‘mis. I’m in love with you, but I also love the others and I don’t mind spending time with them. They’re your family after all.”

 

“You are, too. I hope.”

 

“Thank you. And I like to think that you’re becoming mine as well. I’ve had so little over the years and finding you was unexpected. You’ve made me improve so much. That’s why I need you to myself. To be reminded of what we have. Of what’s important. You’ll always be my priority when it comes to loving people. You as a man. Not as a father.”

 

“I understand. I’m doing my best.”

 

Aramis has always been aware of Porthos’ insecurities. He knows how he hides them under his strong demeanor, how he is adamant that they should never transpire in his everyday life and yet when it comes to Aramis, he’s an open book. He’s become one. It’s taken some time, but Porthos feels safe enough to confide his fears. His boyfriend feels privileged, from it and from much more, so much that he couldn’t list it. Aramis may have been blinded by his son for the last months, dazzled by how delightful -even though exhausting- it was to have him almost all the time. He’s been careful never to neglect Porthos, though. 

 

“You are. We’re both a bit confused by our new situation since Anne moved here. Which is why we need to work on that. I think.”

 

“You’re amazing,” Aramis declares, leaning toward Porthos to get a kiss. One, two, three, until they’re both smiling. “So kind and thoughtful and I never want to let you go.”

 

“I should hope so.”

 

“So what’s your big plan for the holidays? If I haven’t ruined anything?”

 

“Ah, yes. Well, we have to thank Athos for it again.”

 

“Do I finally sense some gossip?” Aramis inquires, relieved to leave nerve-wrecking yet necessary discussions behind to focus on what will make them happy. Porthos grins, feeds him another candy. 

 

“Yep. Athos is so in love…..he’s flying to England,” he says in a dramatic voice. Aramis chokes on the treat. 

 

“Really? Is that...a good thing?”

 

“Yes, I believe it is. He’s moving forward. Although I cannot wait for the texts telling me that he hates everything. The food, the weather, that nothing inspires him to paint. That Ninon is always nagging him.”

 

“I think he likes it.”

 

“Oh yes, definitely. He’ll also love every second of his stay over there. Which leads to my good news. He’d booked  a hotel for the Valentine’s Day weekend but they’ll both be in Cambridge so he’s offered it to us.”

 

“Can’t he just get a refund on it? I mean, it’s a great gesture but…”

 

“He’ll offer it to Flea and Charon if we say no. Honesty, I’d rather go than let them have it. And that way, we can go there for our little holiday and still go to Etretat with Mati and Anne the next weekend. If she’s free.”

 

“She’ll most likely be,” Aramis says bitterly. 

 

“The only problem is...the hotel is in Paris.”

 

Even though Aramis’ face falls because they were supposed to leave the city to enjoy each other’s company, Porthos doesn’t seem disappointed at all by the prospect. He looks like he’s plotting some awesome scheme. 

 

“It’s the Shangri-La.”

 

Porthos’ heart is still beating fast hours after Athos mentioned it to him. That was one hell of a romantic idea coming from his best friend. Why he doesn’t want to still go is a mystery that Athos didn’t want to investigate. There are many luxury hotels in England that he was actually going to research when Porthos left earlier. It’s also a huge leap from the lack of public affection he used to show toward Ninon in the past. 

 

Athos has beenknown to often go over the top when his head was into it. And it’s something he can totally afford. Porthos could potentially do, too, but spending thousands of euros to stay within Paris? What’s the point? Not that he’s complaining if it’s handed to him. 

 

Aramis is still gaping at him.

 

“But….but….how much….?”

 

“No idea.”

 

“Two thousand a night? Three thousand?”

 

“Yeah, probably. I’ve made the same complaint but he wants someone to benefit from the room and the massages he’s booked and since you’re injured…”

 

“Porthos?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“No offence, but….I think I’m in love with Athos.”

 

Porthos snorts, smothers Aramis in his embrace and doesn’t hear anything else but one low and delighted sigh. And lips kissing his neck. Softly, saying everything else Porthos needs to know. 

 

“Do we have a plan, then?”

  
“We most certainly do.”


	11. February (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First night of their stay at that exceptional hotel.

Aramis is in awe the minute he steps into the main entrance of the hotel. He's seen the outside of it before, wealthy and pristine, and immaculate and expensive cars parked in front, but he would never have dreamed he would one day set foot in it. He crans his head to take a good look at the ceilings and the chandeliers and the staircase and all the flowers. The brightness inside with all these windows and this impression of quiet in spite of the people milling about. It's as if everything is hushed by some miracle and it smells _good_. Like nothing else he's smelled before.

 

It's another world.

 

He's pretty sure he wouldn't mind sleeping there in the lobby. The sofas look delightful, with the soft cushions. And there's always someone to tend to your every need, he realizes while they wait to check in. He's hanging on to Porthos' arm strongly. He's only been rid of his crutches for a couple of days and the floor appears to have been polished to some extent. Slipping and hurting himself would ruin their weekend.

 

“It's like a fairytale,” Aramis whispers, ashamed that other clients might hear him. They're probably used to places like this one. He isn't. Porthos smiles, kisses the top of his boyfriend's head.

 

“And that's only the lobby. I can't wait to see the room.”

 

Aramis nods with appreciation, raises his head and drops one small kiss on Porthos' cheek. Unashamed of who might be looking. They can watch all they want, he isn't embarassed by this at all.

 

Porthos secures him close to his side, doesn't comment on the low wince Aramis gives when he shifts on his feet. He's taken some painkillers and if the doctor says he can try to walk without crutches, then they have to trust him. The pain can't go away so easily, though, but Porthos is hoping these few days of rest and pure pleasure will help speed Aramis' recovery.

 

Porthos is excited, too. He's been thanking Athos profusely any time he's called from England to complain about the rain, and also to not subtly say that Ninon was over the moon and he's so happy to have made her joyful.

 

The moment they reach the desk and the concierge to check-in, Porthos finds that he'll have more reasons to thank Athos, and also scold him for taking such good care of him and Aramis when all they desire is simply to spend some time alone. They don't need extras, although he won't decline them.

 

“Will you be having dinner in the restaurant this evening?”

 

“I don't think so, no,” Porthos answers, glancing at Aramis who is quick to shake his head. If it was up to him, they wouldn't leave the room for the entire weekend. They have excellent plans in it.

 

“You'll find the menu for the room service in your suite, my colleague will show you.”

 

Aramis chokes on the word. But he should have expected it. Coming from Athos, you wouldn't expect him to book a small hotel room. Porthos' hand is on his back, safe and solid, but shaking a little. Which he doesn't show to the man behind the desk. Instead, he nods.

 

“And...I see here that you're booked for massages in the morning. Am I correct?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Aramis does smile brightly at this. He cannot wait. Especially as Porthos has suggested training on their own before going to the spa.

 

“You also have a reservation for dinner...tomorrow night.”

 

“Do we?”

 

“Yes. Half past eight.”

 

“We didn't book this,” Porthos replies, frowning. Given how expensive all the services are, he cannot imagine what dinner might cost. He's ready to cancel it.

 

“The person who booked your stay did.”

 

“Damn him,” Porthos mutters. “We'll be fine without it, thank you.”

 

“He also specified, and he was quite adamant about it, that you should....,” the man glances at his screen, does a double-take to stare at the boyfriends, hesitates further. “...pardon the expression but _suck it and enjoy yourself._ ”

 

Aramis laughs out loud.

 

“Of course he did.”

 

“And then he asked us to tell you to not even try to call him because he won't answer.” The concierge is a bit out of breath but it seems that his guests aren't annoyed by his language so that's all for the best. Clients can have such strange requests sometimes.

 

“Anything else we should be warned about?”

 

“That's all, sir.”

 

“Excellent, thank you very much.”

 

Aramis is still laughing on their way up the stairs. Even though he is a little bothered that Athos will be spending so much money for them during these two days, Porthos has to admit that his best friend' attention has made him happier than he already was. So he focuses on helping Aramis, since their bags are somewhat taken care of by an employee. It must be nice, to always be able to afford such luxury and to have someone always close-by to assist you. A bit boring perhaps.

 

The suite is much to the image of the lobby and the corridors. Grand and spacious and even the smallest thing in it radiates wealth. From the massive bed with the shiny linens to the French windows, so clean you could almost miss them. From the lavish sofa to the exquisite pastries set on the massive coffee table. From the rich curtains separating the bedroom from the living room to the magnificent skyline their balcony offers.

 

“It's beautiful,” Aramis declares, standing by the window, admiring the night setting on Paris, the clouds surrounding the Eiffel Tower. They can see so much of the monument and he cannot wait to wake up to it.

 

Porthos steps close behind him, wraps his arms around his waist and holds him close. He breathes in Aramis' neck, softly, quietly, and they don't talk for a long time. Aramis feels peaceful there, Porthos against him, strong and warm. Loving. He sinks against him, plays with the fingers sprawled on his stomach. Fingers which thread together and Porthos kisses the pulse point in his boyfriend's neck. Aramis sighs, turns his head just a bit and rests it against Porthos' comfortable chest.

 

Their breathing slow down, in sync and even. Porthos kisses Aramis' cheek, as sweetly as ever, thankful to be here with him tonight. Just the two of them, no one to interrupt them. When he tells Aramis so, concluding it with a resounding “I love you,” his boyfriend does shift. Turns around.

 

With arms wrapped around Porthos' neck and two hands firm on Aramis' waist, he feels home. Aramis would like to always stay like this. Like it was at the beginning, all these months ago, when it was only Porthos and him and they were discovering each other. Laughter and teasing. But affection and tender words. Always. Two sides to their relationship, mixing so perfectly well. The best combination in the world. To be a tease and to be rough one minute only to end up snuggling and whispering sweet nothings to each other the next. Nobody else. Nobody that Aramis wants to think about tonight.

 

Porthos is here. Porthos is the only one that matters.

 

“I love you, too. And....It's Valentine's Day, I'm allowed to be cheesy so....”

 

Porthos cocks his head, waits for what's coming.

 

“....I'd never thought I'd find someone like you. You complete me perfectly, Porthos. I know it's not always easy, far from it, but it only makes it better for me. You're always here. You're the only thing which is on my mind _all_ the time. Literally. You make me happy. In a way nobody else ever has.”

 

“Who would have thought it, eh?”

 

“Exactly.” Aramis grins a little in return, raises his head to reach Porthos' lips.

 

“It's the same for me, 'mis. You know that. It's like you've erased everything else that happened before you. Anybody else. It's you and I won't waste one moment of it.”

 

“Excellent. Because now, I want to have sex with you,” Aramis whispers, mischievous eyes and lips brushing Porthos', who sucks in a surprised breath. But he's happy to oblige. Always is. Always will be. He hugs Aramis, frames his face with his hands and dips down for a long kiss. Slow and unrestrained, until Aramis has to cling to his shoulders for support because it's getting hot in the room.

 

He lets Porthos' tongue take control in his mouth, lets it taste his own, and explore. Over and over. Lips turn greedy. Hands are hot on Aramis' skin once they travel down his back and settle under his shirt. They rub and they knead, slowly, carefully, only grazing his jeans, but always going higher up, nails dragging on the skin. Aramis shudders, moans in the kiss.

 

Porthos is panting, lips shining and swollen once Aramis excruciatingly takes a step back. His hair is dishevelled, most of it out of the ponytail, beautiful luscious curls falling on his clouded eyes. Aramis delights in the growl shaking his boyfriend's body while he strips out of his shirt, standing between the bed and Porthos half-naked, fingers on his belt.

 

Aramis gasps in surprise but also in expectation when Porthos stalks towards him and ungraciously pushes him on the bed, trapping his hands above his head so that Aramis can't move them. The bed feels extraordinary underneath him, as if he was lying on a cloud. A cloud which has been sprayed with perfume. He could almost glide on the sheets.

 

Porthos looming above him is a far better distraction than the lavishness of the setting. Aramis stares straight at him, the dark eyes and the resolute look in them. How he lick his lips, how he rakes his eyes up and down his boyfriend's chest. Aramis squirms a little, waiting for some pressure on him. That Porthos gladly delivers, sitting on Aramis' legs, bending his head and licking his way up the other's chest. From his stomach and the clenched muscles to his nipples. It makes Aramis groan and thrash a bit. The hot tongue on his sensitive skin, lapping and sucking, circling one hard nipple and then the other. Never forgetting one inch of the skin in between. Each moan leads to Porthos doing it more, peppering kisses, watching Aramis from behind half-closed eyelids to find his boyfriend looking up at him.

 

The skin he tastes is exquisite, smooth and spicy and he gets drunk on it. The nipples in his mouth, how he circles them, how his tongue wets the bare skin, heating it up. How Aramis starts to wiggle. How Porthos indulges him by moving up to kiss his boyfriend straight on the mouth. He pushes his tongue as far down as he can, puts his entire weight on Aramis and feels the gasps more than he hears them.

 

Crotches rubbing, denim on denim, hard fabric. Over and over, leisurely, taking the time to feel everything every time. Aramis' mouth remains open once they have to breathe, and all he can do is drawl how good it is, to feel every inch of Porthos on him, in spite of clothing.

 

“You're wearing way too many clothes,” Aramis decides, hips nevertheless bucking to meet Porthos'. The statement doesn't stop them from moving together because there's nothing in the world that could make them. Aramis is starting to feel hot in his jeans. They're too tight. His cock is straining in it. So is Porthos' and he breathes out loudly so that in a remarkable effort he can straighten up, kneeling on top of his boyfriend.

 

Then he's naked, glistening chest and pants open just enough so he doesn't feel trapped in them. Porthos swats Aramis' hands away when they try to take a hold on his underwear. Aramis retaliates, sitting up awkwardly on the bed and Porthos has to surrender to the deft fingers on his boxers. Aramis goes easy on him, lets his fingers roam and sense the heat radiating from within his boyfriend's boxers. It's so hot and so inviting and with a smirk on his face, Aramis pushes Porthos until he's the one lying down.

 

Pants are on the floor, the bare skin of Porthos' legs assaulted by fingernails crawling up his thighs, followed by a dexterous yet delicate mouth. Porthos' breath hitches when Aramis kisses the inner side of his thigh, hair tickling him, nose taking in the strong and enticing scent. The next kiss is on Porthos' underwear, trailing along the line of his cock. It's as if he was actually being touched properly. He's getting hard, one arm flung on his face. Aramis is in no hurry to do more, kissing and kissing, tip of his tongue tasting the damp fabric. He's rutting a little on the bed as he does so because Porthos is such a beauty that he cannot help but be turned on.

 

Until his mouth glides up, his tongue licking the waistband of Porthos' underwear and sending shivers all over his stomach. Deep under the skin, curling around his guts, choking his lungs and making his heart stutter. Porthos gasps loudly. At this and at the devilish smile on his boyfriend's face when he tugs on the boxers with his teeth, hooks two thumbs at the sides and drags them down Porthos' thighs so they can join the pants on the floor.

 

Aramis' fingers are somewhat cold compared to how burning hot Porthos' cock is. It makes him start on the bed a little. Before he props himself on his elbows to take in his boyfriend and the tinkle in his eyes. How Aramis looks from him to his own hand stroking Porthos' cock, painfully slow, as if to learn every inch of something he already knows by heart. The smoothness of his palm is heavy on Porthos, on the length of his cock, on his balls. The touch is firm and yet it seems as if all that Porthos can feel is a fickle feather playing with him. It's teasing and he hates it. He loves hating it. He relishes in how it makes his heart speed up and how his breathing becomes more labored. Aramis does know what to do to make him hot. Without even talking.

 

The lush sounds are more than enough. Sucking on the cockhead, as if drinking from some mythical source of nectar. Tiny moves, tip of his tongue barely touching, fingers fondling Porthos' balls. His legs buck from time to time. Aramis is sucking the life out of Porthos who can hardly focus on anything anymore. It's rather hot to watch Aramis take such immense pleasure in blowing him, the cock disappearing in his warm mouth, wet and soft. Porthos throws his head back, groans at the hand closing at the base of his cock, stroking. More rapidly now. Aramis is bowing his head a little faster, licking from tip to base and up again.

 

Porthos grabs a handful of the sheets, grips them fiercely, lies back on the bed and spreads his legs wider. Aramis hums in appreciation and his boyfriend's cock twitches in his mouth so he does it again. Just to have Porthos groan and buck his hips.

 

“Be still.”

 

“You're the one to talk,” Porthos manages to rasp out. Even while being deeply concentrated on giving his boyfriend an amazing blowjob, Aramis has somewhat managed to unbuckle his own belt and one of his hands has snuckinside his underwear. He's so hard as well, confined in his clothes, rubbing and clutching whatever he can. His ass keeps rising in the air as he does so and it's all that Porthos can see.

 

Aramis chuckles, doesn't stop what he's doing and instead dives once more between Porthos' legs. He peppers tiny kisses on his balls, before his mouth is full on them, sucking eagerly, swallowing all that he can. There's pre-come smeared on his fingers and Porthos' breathing is a little less under control.

 

Porthos' balls, they feel good in his mouth, they feel good on his lips whenever Aramis brushes his beard against them. A rough contrast which also sends Porthos into esctasy. He cries out more often than not and it's too much and with tremendous effort, he sits up and pushes a surprised Aramis back on the bed.

 

Porthos sense the loss of contact on his cock at once and he misses it. It's hard and the way Aramis eyes it tells him his boyfriend wants to do so much more with it. Porthos wouldn't complain. But he wants to take his time. They have hours to themselves. So he goes for another burning kiss, tasting his own scent on Aramis' lips, and still going deeper in his mouth. Aramis clutches the hair on the nape of his boyfriend' neck, pulling him close, wrapping his good leg around Porthos' waist. Denim on bare flesh and Porthos shudders from it. A newer friction which doesn't help his problem.

 

But once he's managed to untangle himself from Aramis and that the jeans are kicked away along with his underwear, Porthos can finally have his naked boyfriend wrapped all over him. He can touch and feel all this sweaty skin glistening against his, clutching, rubbing, grabbing amid sloppy kisses and low moans and two burning cocks grazing, rutting together. Aramis lets out a sharp shout when Porthos jerks his hips more forcefully.

 

His two legs are so secure around his waist, against his ass that Aramis couldn't fall. There's no pain in his ankle from all the other emotions taking hold of his body right now. He rejoices in how each of Porthos' movements sends him deep onto the soft mattress, how he is almost crushed by Porthos' massive body. It's erotic, Aramis swims in his desire and his pleasure and he wants more. His feet push against his boyfriend's ass, and he rises a little so that they're sitting up on the bed, legs and arms everywhere. So close to the other. Strong embrace, fingers in hair, fingers raking down backs. Cocks stroking together. One hand playing with Aramis' nipples, feeling them harden more under Porthos' ministrations. How he bites Aramis' lip and how Aramis tugs on Porthos' hair.

 

He cocks his head to the side, gives Porthos better access to his neck and moans endlessly at the kisses dropped there. Everywhere. He's squirming on Porthos' lap, trying to maintain some rhythm but in the end, it's how erratic their moves are which pleases him. Aramis can't think of anything else but his sensitive cock, leaking on Porthos', rubbing against it, on it. So hard and so big and pulsing between their stomachs.

 

Porthos' hands settle on his ass, push him close, feel the curve of Aramis' backside. Porthos smiles at the shivers he can guess. Aramis is shaking in his arms, sweat shining on his shoulders, on his forehead. Damp curls stuck to his temples. To the back of his neck.

 

Aramis grunts, stills for a second and drops his head on Porthos' shoulder when his boyfriend's fingers wander further down his ass, touch the responsive skin there, how his hole clenches at the caress. But then it softens and Aramis moves again, with renewed interest, urging Porthos to continue. To do more. He's so tight inside, so tight and yet so sensitive. Porthos can't help but move and in doing so, he bites a little on his boyfriend' shoulder because it's an ordeal to go slow and not take him right there.

 

The bite only hastens Aramis' jerky moves.

 

“Fuck...Porthos!”

 

There are two fingers inside of him, and he's rocking against them, cock as hard as it can get, pulsing close to Porthos' who is feeling the same. He's suffocating in his own skin because Aramis is gorgeous when he takes that much pleasure from something. Carefree and unashamed by all the ungracious sounds he makes. How much he curses and demands more. More of everything. More fingers, more movement, more kisses.

 

So Porthos rocks on the bed and Aramis hangs on to his shoulders for dear life. He doesn't even relinquish his hold once he's back on the bed, lying in all of his nakedness, his recovering leg on the bed and the other hooked on Porthos' shoulder. His fingers dive deeper in his boyfriend's ass like this and from what he can hear, Aramis enjoys it immensily. So much that it doesn't matter if their cocks aren't touching anymore.

 

Porthos does mind, and strokes his own, curling his fingers inside of Aramis, leaning down on him, watching the other's reactions and responses to what is being done to him. Aramis can't be quiet. Doesn't want to. He's thrashing, gulping big breaths at the hand strong on his throat.

 

“Be still,” Porthos growls.

 

But it's too arousing for Aramis and it only makes his cock twitch again. He's being stretched so completely and the pain he feels from it is so ridiculously insignificant, no matter how it burns. It makes him feel good. Even though he wants it to be better. He wants to be smothered by it. He wants to feel Porthos, only Porthos. With his hands on him, his fingers inside of him. His mouth on his neck, on his jaw, licking a path to his mouth, licking his teeth.

 

Aramis offers the expanse of his neck and Porthos softens the mark he's made there by rubbing the kind fingers back and forth. Not rough anymore. Aramis curls his toes high on his boyfriend's shoulder. He bites his lip when Porthos fingers leave his ass, rest between his legs a moment, only to caress his balls, his cock and Aramis does jerk then.

 

“You're going to be a good boy and actually be still for a few seconds, all right?”

 

All Aramis can do is nod, and close his eyes. Porthos' cock is pushing gently against his ass, rocking a little. He's taking his sweet time, even if it's a torture even for him. Porthos wants to fill his boyfriend so fully and thoroughly. He wants to feel him everywhere around him. He wants their bodies to be so connected that he can sense Aramis under his very skin, he can sense him invading his heart and be the only nurishment Porthos actually requires.

 

Aramis can't obey the order, moving his hips to entice Porthos to be quicker and when he eventually pushes deep inside of him, they both groan. Porthos hangs his head, tries to stay still. Aramis grabs the hand on his hip, threads their fingers together and can't tear his eyes away from Porthos' gorgeous face. How concentrated he is, how much he enjoys this. How much Aramis loves it. It'll never get old. He'll always feel complete in such a position. Much more when Porthos does start to move.

 

Slowly, feeling every nerve, everything. In tune with his boyfriend's body, how it stretches to accommodate him, how it clenches but never refuses anything. Aramis' face is sometimes scrunched and yet Porthos doesn't ask about it. Aramis never complains about anything in bed. Aramis loves sex. Rough or not. When they take their time or when they go fast. Porthos has no intention to rush it tonight.

 

His thruts may be deliberately slow, they're meaningful and the way Porthos never breaks eye-contact with Aramis while fucking him makes it less like teasing and more like an expression of what their true feelings are.

 

He doesn't do gentle, though. He may not go fast, Porthos thrusts hard each time. Aramis bounces a little on the bed every time and his tiny moans drive his boyfriend to go deeper. To actually put more rhythm. He obliges in spite of himself because Aramis has brought his boyfriend's fingers to his mouth and is sucking them with passion. Making a show of it, curling his tongue around them, biting a little, pushing them so far in his mouth. Sucking and sucking and Porthos can imagine him well doing the same to his cock, now buried in Aramis' ass, ramming into it faster.

 

Aramis smirks, rocks his hips to accompany Porthos. Groans and groans and groans and bites his lip and his own cock twitches against his stomach.

 

“God, you need to go harder, Porthos.”

 

“Harder than that?”

 

Aramis gasps, catches his breath, feels his body move a few inches higher up on the bed with the force of the thrust. Porthos does it again. And again. Aramis sprawled under him is majestic, all this skin to kiss, all these muscles to lick. All this body to fuck. He does it again.

 

Aramis throws his hands in the air, encounters the headboard and hangs on tight. Porthos shifts on the bed, grabs his boyfriend's hips and grips them with mighty strength. He's blinded by the force of his desire, how much he wants Aramis, how good he makes him feel. Porthos can fee his orgasm build deep inside of him and the sight of Aramis is too much.

 

“I'm gonna....come.”

 

“I know. That's good. I want you to....come inside of me....Porthos....God.....Fuck....That's good....”

 

“Yeah....You're....Fuck....Aramis....How can you be....so tight....all the time...”

 

“So you can...fuck me better. Come on, Porthos.”

 

In spite of how much his body is being used, Aramis lets go of one iron bar, reaching to stroke his hard cock and that simple touch is almost too much at once. Combined with Porthos rocking against him, his balls slamming against Aramis' ass, Aramis is aware he'll come too, soon. So he makes a show of it. He pulls on his cock, brushes the tip, wets his fingers in his mouth, returns to his handjob, never looking away from Porthos.

 

It bubbles in his stomach, under his hand and Aramis comes in a long drawl, from his own ministrations and Porthos hitting deligthful places inside of him. He can't stop moaning, can't stop stroking, comes all over his fingers and Porthos is going a bit wild on top of him. His leg slips from the other's shoulder in his high, only to rest on a sweating ass and effectively pushing Porthos closer.

 

He collapses on Aramis, always rocking his hips, coming deep in his ass, fucking him still. Porthos' mouth is on his boyfriend's chest, blowing hot air on the sensitive skin, not caring that there's come on it as well. Porthos' breathing is completely out of control, there is a bright light surrounding him. All he can hear is his heart beating too fast. His ears drum from it, his mind goes blank. He licks the come on Aramis' stomach. There's one hiss above his head. Porthis licks some more and there's one hand softly smoothing his hair.

 

When he raises his head, he finds Aramis' kind eyes looking down at him, beckoning him closer. Porthos does so lazily, taking his sweet time to rise and stretch by his boyfriend's side. He gives Aramis one long and exquisite kiss before he buries his face in the crook of the other's neck. Aramis' arms are safe around him so they can calm down together.

 

While they don't talk, Porthos does hook one leg with Aramis, his fingers tracing random patterns on his boyfriend's stomach. Aramis purrs above his head, curls his toes. Winces a little.

 

“The ankle?”

 

“I'm fine. I'm in excellent shape,” Aramis adds and Porthos can hear the smile in his voice. He closes his eyes, listens to Aramis' heart beating under his cheek. He focuses on the hand on his back, rubbing nicely.

 

“Do you remember the first night we spent together?” Aramis asks. Porthos hums a yes. “Do you remember what you did to me?”

 

“Gave you the best orgasm of your life?” Porthos lazily jokes.

 

“You came in my hair.”

 

“Geez, I'd forgotten that. Such nice hair and for me to ruin it.”

 

Aramis chuckles, stretches on the bed. Porthos rolls around a little, then rolls out of the bed entirely and comes back with a wonderfully hot towel from the bathroom.

 

“Damn, you have to see the bathtub in there. Heavens compared to ours.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yep. I suggest a bath after. But first...let me make up for that first night.”

 

Aramis laughs once more, and nevertheless lets his boyfriend clean his face, his arms, his legs, and finally his chest. It's almost nicer than an actual massage. Porthos is thorough and gentle and doesn't let Aramis reciprocate the gesture. He simply scampers to the other room to clean himself and when he returns, he's carrying the tray of cupcakes that greeted them in the living room.

 

“You made me hungry,” Porthos explains, after he's drawn a marvelous comforter on their naked bodies and he's gathered a drowsing Aramis in his arms. He sets the treats on his lap and surveys them.

 

“I thought I'd just satisfied your hunger.”

 

“My hunger for you, sure. I want some sugar now.”

 

“But aren't I always sweet?” Aramis retorts, pouting.

 

“The sweetest, 'mis. You're my own precious cupcake. Have one.”

 

“Porthos, I'm getting fat enough as it is.”

 

“Nonsense. You're as splendid as ever.”

 

But Aramis refuses to open his mouth, even if Porthos taunts him with the treat.

 

“But I am. Look at me.”

 

He throws the bedcover at his feet when he says so, daring his boyfriend to take a good look at his stomach. Less toned than it used to. Aramis despises it. There were the holidays which always take their toll on him, but usually he loses the weight easily. Except that he had to injure his ankle right afterward and he's even banned from doing any exercise other than his therapist sessions. He can just see his body has been changing in such a short time. He _hates_ it.

 

“You're beautiful, 'mis. I don't mind it one bit. Cupcake?”

 

“I do. Mind it.”

 

“All right, then,” Porthos eventually says, setting the tray aside and cuddling Aramis and his worried frown. “You'll lose it once you're allowed to move a little more, you know. It'll be fine. I'll still love you no matter what, but if you don't like it, then I'll help. No more cupcakes.”

 

Aramis appreciates the words and the gesture. He snuggles closer, whispering how much he loves Porthos and how much he hopes his boyfriend is correct. But Aramis doesn't want to think about his weight or his annoying body for now. Instead, he remembers all of a sudden that in his kindness, Porthos hasn't eaten anything either. And that's unacceptable.

 

He reaches out, unwilling to leave the warm embrace until he finds one of the cupcakes and he holds it to Porthos' lips. Porthos makes outrageous noises at the sugar melting on his tongue, at the chocolate and the cherry taste coating his mouth. Aramis is hypnotized by it. How it moves around the moutfuls, how much Porthos enjoys it. Aramis sucks in a breath, goes for another kiss. To steal some of these fine savors. Until he actually steals the last bite of the treat, under Porthos' appreciative gaze.

 

Before he can regret it, Aramis has popped another cupcake in his mouth, sprawled on his boyfriend while doing so. It only makes Porthos laugh, delighted in the other's change of heart, antics and precious expressions. Aramis is a gift that he intents to enjoy to its fullest.

 

Starting in the bathtub.

 

There is so much bubblebath they can't see their bodies anymore. Aramis is lying in between Porthos' legs, his back to his chest. Head on Porthos' shoulder, hair glued to the wet skin. The water is warm and it soothes Aramis' ankle. It soothes all their aching muscles, even though they are still very much swimming in the intense pleasure they just shared.

 

There isn't much cleaning going on, though. Aramis reclines against his boyfriend, on the fingers on his stomach.

 

“Porthos?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Can I ask you a cheesy question?”

 

“You're the one who said we could do cheesy on Valentine's Day.”

 

“Right. What do you like the most about me?” He asks in a small voice, so soft.

 

“Your stomach,” Porthos jokes back, yelps at the bubbles thrown at him. Aramis grips his arm strongly.

 

“I'm being serious.”

 

“Ok, cupcake. I guess....there's a lot of stuff I like about you, you know. Your hair to start with, and how you smile with your eyes when you're very, very happy. Or how you sigh and try to be intimidating, hands on your hips when you are not pleased.”

 

“What do you mean _try_?”

 

Porthos kisses the top of his head.

 

“I love how you dance when you cook and you think no one is watching you. I've never seen you actually dance and _that_ , I love it immensely.”

 

Aramis flushes, turns around in the bathtub to face Porthos and give him a kiss.

 

“We could dance if you want. I'd like that. We've got to pratice for d'Art's wedding anyway.”

 

“Oh, I know what I love the most!” Porthos suddenly remembers, cutting him off. “How offended you were when the tailor somehow forgot about us and you had to stand there wearing next to nothing. Your face is adorable when you are annoyed.”

 

“That's not the intended reaction.”

 

“True, but I find it cute. You're cute, 'mis.”

 

“You're the best boyfriend, Porthos.”

 

“I don't know about that but thank you.”

 

“You are, though. You want to know why?”

 

Aramis seems excited to share his thoughts so Porthos humors him.

 

“You take good care of that potted plant I bought on a whim and I do believe it's thanks to you that it hasn't withered yet.”

 

“You do forget about it most of the time,” Porthos agrees. Although Aramis did speak to it a few times at the beginning. He did so when he was certain no one was around so Porthos won't mention that he's witnessed it on several occasions.

 

“You go through endless shopping trips with me even though you don't especially enjoy it.”

 

“I like watching you scavenge in the aisles and talk to shop attendents as if they've never heard of your precious ingredients.”

 

“Because most of them haven't. And I like how strong your arms are when you hold me whenever I'm feeling down. It makes me feel better just to think about it. That's how much you mean to me.”

 

Porthos pushes some of Aramis' hair back, holding it in a makeshift ponytail. He's smiling, quite enjoying the praise in the end.

 

“Also, I love it when you're reading and the entire world literally vanishes for you. Nothing else matters but the words on the page and I'd give anything to be in your head when you do so. It must be fantastic. The way you purse your lips and you nod, or you shake your head. You're living the story and it makes me so happy for you.”

 

“Books were the best companions when we were young. They were like adventures that our parents could have had, that we could have with them.”

 

They are still all very fond of reading for the same reasons. Minus the parents part.

 

“But....,” Aramis continues, “you, sir, are a darling once you've finished a very good novel and you don't know what to do with yourself anymore. Remember that one time you couldn't fall asleep at night?”

 

“I do. You had to listen to me tell you how striking the story was.”

 

“I liked it.”

 

“Until you fell asleep.”

 

“Well, you kept me up at ungoldly hours.”

 

“Most of the time you don't complain when I do that.” Porthos winks.

 

“Most of the time you do more than talking,” Aramis says back, wiggling his eyebrows.

 

Porthos snorts, slams his hand down on the water so it splashes everywhere and Aramis gives a shrill at the sudden assault. And another louder one at the waterfall on his already wet hair.

 

It takes a long time to dry while they lounge on the sofa wearing fluffy bathrobes and flipping through the extensive room service menu. The prices are outrageous but they cannot live on cupcakes and when the food does arrive and they can eat it while gazing at the Eiffel Tower, all the lights brightening the city and there's soft music in the room, it's so good that the price doesn't really matter anymore.

 

Aramis is almost drowsing in his arms once they're done eating. It's a wonder that so late at night, cooks were still up to deliver such salty and sweet marvels, or that people were at the ready to deliver it to their room. Not in the least looking tired. It's so late. Anything can happen when you have the means to indulge. Perhaps Porthos should consider using his money to such ends once in a while. He's loving it.

 

He's loving how quiet they are after their work-out and the bath and the dinner. How Aramis is humming out of tune with the lyrics of the songs and how they don't have to talk at all to feel comfortable. Aramis is absent-mindedly playing with his boyfriend's fingers, his head on the pillow and Porthos spooning him. They haven't made it under the bedcover and they won't.

 

Porthos drops a soft kiss right underneath Aramis' ear once he falls asleep, clutching Porthos' hand to his chest. Aramis brings out the best in him, all the time. Even when he's out and Porthos can look at him for long hours. To memorize all his tiny noises and small moves.

 

He's no idea what he's done to be so lucky, to be able to listen to Aramis' cute snores and how he mumbles in his sleep. It's true they are the reasons why Porthos prefers to fall asleep before his boyfriend, so he isn't bothered by them. And yet, he can't bring himself to wake Aramis up to make him stop. Not tonight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be their weekend with Mati and Anne. I could have gone on about their Valentine's Day weekend but I've decided to leave this to your imagination ;)


	12. February (Part II)

There are more people than usual in their home that Friday night. Mati is enthusiastically choosing the toys he wants to take with him for the weekend, even if the pile will have to be drastically reduced because that is just too much for only two days. Porthos is closing shutters and checking that they haven't forgotten anything, especially not Aramis' medicine. His boyfriend may not have been a terrible patient, he's hopeless when it comes to remembering prescriptions. If it was up to him, he wouldn't take any and would simply go back to his fencing and his sport without delay. No matter the pain he might feel afterwards. In the end, Aramis is glad Porthos is here to remind him. Especially once his ankle starts throbbing way too much more than a month and a half after his injury.

 

And then, more surprisingly, there is Anne in the kitchen, talking a tad louder than necessary during her conversation with Porthos. She's making them sandwiches. They were supposed to collect her after Aramis had come home from work, but as she tells him when he greets her, she was way too excited to wait by herself at home. Her eyes and her smile show it as well. Aramis doesn't mind, if it makes her happy. Neither did Porthos when she showed up on their doorstep earlier than planned. After all, they're going away all four of them. One more hour won't change much.

 

Besides, she's been talking non-stop ever since she's arrived. Amid Mati being thrilled that his mother was with him in his father's home and Porthos' insistance that _he_ should make the food because it is _his_ kitchen, she's been recounting her fantastic day at the museum. In so many details that Porthos has to find it both funny and entertaining. You can just hear the passion in her voice and it's refreshing. The way she waves her knife as she does so isn't, but as long as he keeps his distance, he'll be safe. She mustn't have a lot of opportunities to come home and have other adults to chat with. He's humoring her by asking questions, that is until his boyfriend eventually shows up.

 

Because once it's the four of them huddled at the table to eat their food before hitting the road, Mati is the one doing all the talking. It's better to have the three adults with him to speak about school and his friends. A bigger audience to delight. But also more persons to stand against him when they have to pack his bag and unfortunately, barely a few toys fit in it.

 

“We'll go to the beach, there, you know,” Porthos explains. “It's supposed to be rather nice. And there must be some games in the house.”

 

“Which means you don't need those,” Aramis adds, pointing at the boxes piled on the coffee table. They are quite strict about toys lying around on the floor now. Mati considers that option, looks at his mother who basically repeats what's just been said. So he surrenders.

 

He does hang on to his tablet as it'll take more than two hours to reach their destination and at night, there are hardly any games they can play in the car. For a moment, he is busy braiding his father's hair in the backseat. Much to Aramis' delight. It gives him another reason to refuse the haircut everyone else has been suggesting. He did cut one inch or two last week. It's more than enough. It makes Mati laugh and laugh, and his father winces whenever he tugs too hard on a black curl. In the end, the lack of proper light leads them to stop to huddle close together.

 

It doesn't take them long to fall asleep, in spite of the conversation the others are having.

 

“They're like two sloths,” Anne jokes, wiping her head back toward the road. It's a pity it's too dark to take a picture. She would have loved to tease Aramis with it later on. Porthos snorts.

 

“They are. Except Mati doesn't snore.”

 

“Does Aramis still do?”

 

“Most nights, yes.”

 

He doesn't pause to question how she would be aware of such a fact. They may not have shared a bed in years, they've shared appartments and been on so many vacations together. Porthos can make fun of Aramis with her, it's all that matters.

 

“I feel for you.” Anne pats Porthos' hand in sympathy.

 

“You learn to live with it.”

 

“I was at the gym yesterday, by the way,” she says, suddenly thinking about it.

 

Anne likes Porthos' gym. Everyone is friendly and all the ladies in her classes are great fun to be around. It's good for her to see more people. It's also good to blow out some steam. Mati is a handful. An adorable one, but a handful nonetheless.

 

“I noticed your daycare room was almost finished.”

 

“Yep.” Porthos smiles brightly. He cannot wait for it to be done. It's turned the entire building into a mess. “I'm hoping by the end of the month it will look like an actual gym again. I miss the sofas by the bar.”

 

“And that means I could come more often. Bringing Mati with me.”

 

“You could already do, Anne. I don't mind having him with me.”

 

“It wouldn't be fair to burden you with him when it's not your turn.”

 

Porthos appreciates the soft tone and the words. What she's saying is true. He has no idea if Aramis and her still talk about him, but he hopes they don't anymore. Not when he isn't around or when he isn't aware of it. Aramis has been quite good about including him. He's part of the family after all. Porthos is endlessly reminded of this. His discomfort might have shown, then for Anne to say such a thing. Or perhaps she really is as great as Porthos believes her to be. Perceptive and insightful.

 

The conversation he's had with Aramis at the hospital often resurfaces. They talk a lot about it. How they can make it work better as a couple first, and after as a family. How they can better include Anne without being overwhelmed by it. How they can always be the most relevant person to the other without forgetting about Aramis' son and his mother. Porthos' realization that he might feel trapped by their schedule, even though it reassured him, has been leading him to try harder not to be bothered by random changes.

 

There haven't been many, close to none unless they count that one time he had to accompany Aramis to the hospital once more and they accepted Anne's offer to take the child for the afternoon. Mati doesn't complain about sudden changes, he's happy as ever to spend time with any of the adults. And it did give Porthos an opportunity to take his boyfriend out for sweet treats in the middle of a week when they shouldn't have been supposed to have a moment to themselves otherwise. There are perks to being so at ease with Anne that bending the schedule is hardly a bother.

 

“I don't get as much work done as I usually do when Mati is there, that's true,” Porthos concedes. “There's always someone more than glad to play with him, though. He's becoming the mascot over there.”

 

Anne chuckles, runs her hand in her long hair, takes off her coat after a while and reclines in the passenger seat. For a second, Porthos wonders if she won't fall asleep as well. But then, she starts to hum to herself, and _that_ is new. At least to him. She seems so comfortable around him, which he has always known, from the very first times they've skyped while she still lived in Madrid. Anne's like that. Kind and ready to welcome anyone she knows she can trust.

 

“You're chirpy today.”

 

She's been ever since greeting him in the late afternoon. Anne smiles a bright smile at him, turning her head in his direction, studying his profile as he drives. Are they having a beard contest, she wonders. Aramis and him. Have they decided to stop shaving? For some reason unknown to her? Anne almost asks him, all in her joy to have been included in their vacation. It might not be her place to do so, though. Instead, she answers his unspoken question.

 

“I'm really happy I'm coming with you. Thank you so much.”

 

“You need to stop thanking us. You've been doing so for days.”

 

“Because I'm quite over the moon that you thought of me.”

 

“Why wouldn't we? You're Mati's mother. Hell, you're Aramis' best friend.”

 

“And you?”

 

Anne is aware Porthos has been doing a lot of effort, that he's been working on himself to accept her. He's like that, from what Aramis told her over the months and what she's witnessed by herself. He's scared of people leaving him, perhaps scared that outsiders will steal his beloved ones. Once he gets to know them better, though, you can tell in a heartbeat what he thinks of you. If he admires or respect you, he'll change into that giant teddy bear Mati adores. And so does Anne. Aramis is lucky.

 

She has to inquire anyway, simply to be comforted in the knowledge that she isn't imposing too much on this amazing man.

 

“I appreciate you very much. You're my friend, Anne.”

 

“Good.” He's confirmed the obvious so that's enough for her. “Tell me about the house.”

 

“It's not quite in town, if I remember correctly. But it's gigantic. It belongs to Athos' family after all. And I've a feeling you're going to love the cliffs and the beach.”

 

“I can't wait.”

 

Porthos tries to recall what they can do in the city, because it's February and they'll need to find distractions or else Mati will want to go swimming and that's absolutely out of the question. Anne listens carefully for a few minutes, overjoyed at all the possibilities and amazed at how easily Porthos is including her, how effortless it is to have a conversation with him without Aramis.

 

“Are you still listening to me?” Porthos has to inquire after a while because there's been no response for some time. She may truly have fallen asleep on him this time. Except she hasn't and the change in his voice jostles her back to reality.

 

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

 

“Yeah, you seemed kind of super far away.” Porthos shakes his head, smiling. She straightens in her seat, groans and complains that all the work-out Porthos' instructors are making her do is too much for her poor limbs. For some reason, she isn't quite comfortable attending the classes that Porthos does teach. They're not that close. Constance does, but Constance doesn't have the same relationship with him as Anne and Porthos do.

 

“I went to see a very good movie on Wednesday night,” Anne explains to justify her daydream.

 

“Yeah? Which one was it?”

 

“It was an animated one but....” Her memory seems to run dry and there isn't one scene of the movie she can actually remembers. “I forgot what the plot was.”

 

“It mustn't have been that good, then.”

 

“Oh, but it was a very nice night.”

 

The way she says it, glee in her voice and the hint of her Spanish accent resurfacing like it hardly does, that's new, too. Porthos glances briefly to the right to find her thoughtfully chewing on her lip. There might be more to her joy than going away for the weekend with them.

 

“Can I ask if you went alone?”

 

Porthos throws her a cheeky grin that she can barely see in the darkness. There aren't that many lights on the highway. A lot of cars. But mostly darkness. Anne hears it all in the question, though. She smiles back.

 

“You can, but I don't want to talk about it without Aramis. If I do, then I'll just have to repeat everything,” she adds before Porthos can even begin to feel upset that she wouldn't trust him enough to confide in him. She does. She'd love to share what's new in her life. She doesn't plan on saying it over and over during the weekend, though.

 

“Well, if it makes you happy, I guess I can wait. Or we could just wake him up.”

 

“And burst their dreamy slumber? That would be an outrage.”

 

They're in an awkward position in the backseat because of their seatbelts, Mati's shoes off somewhere, his teddy bear dropped on Aramis' lap while he clutches his father's arm with mighty little fingers. Aramis' head is bent in an uncomfortable angle, blond curls in his beard. They would probably spend the entire night like this if they could.

 

“Later then. I _cannot_ wait.”

 

“I didn't take you as one for gossip.”

 

“Are you kidding? Gossip is the best. As long as it's harmless and that it betters your life.”

 

Anne gives a tiny soft laugh.

 

“Porthos?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Can I ask you a question?”

 

“Sure.”

 

She shifts in her seat, studies his face carefully for a long moment. Then she goes for it. Because why not? He makes her feel safe, protected in what they can share.

 

“Are you having a beard contest with Aramis?”

 

Porthos snorts, bursts out laughing. Wakes up both Aramis and Mati.

 

“What are you two laughing about?” Aramis slurs. Mati whines and snuggles closer in his father's arms, rubbing his eyes.

 

“Anne wants to know if we're having a beard competition.”

 

“We are,” Aramis replies. They aren't. “I'm winning it.”

 

“ _Papá? I'm tired.”_

 

“ _Ssssh, sweetie. Porthos and Mamá are just playing. Go back to sleep.”_

 

They both try to do that, ignoring the cackles and then Aramis winces after he's kicked the back of Porthos' seat with his bad foot. He complains about their disturbance for the remainder of the way until they are inside the house.

 

It's cozy and warm in it, the heating is already on. The fridge is stocked and Porthos will forever be grateful that Athos' family pays someone to do the cleaning even when no one is using the house. Mati doesn't wake up again, not even when Anne puts his pjs on or when they tuck him in. He's too far gone for that. It's long past his bed time anyway.

 

On the other hand, Aramis groans with pleasure as he sinks on the bed in the master bedroom. Eyes fluttering close and not enough strength to examine the room in which he'll finish his night. He's almost none to focus on Porthos either. How he finds himself snuggled in his arms under the sheets is a mystery. How he yawns in his boyfriend's face isn't one, though, and he constantly apologizes for it. Porthos doesn't mind, keeps on rubbing Aramis' back instead. His muscles are sore as well, from all the driving and sitting.

 

 

When he wakes up in the early hours of the day, Aramis blames it on the throbbing in his ankle. He really is sick of it. It doesn't help that he's injured the same foot twice and the doctors did warn him that the pain might never truly disappear. He hates it. He especially hates how he cannot go back to sleep after taking his painkillers.

 

Porthos is sprawled on his side of the bed. His face in the pillow and the wide expanse of his back offered to his boyfriend for appreciation. Aramis cannot stop himself and starts to touch Porthos lightly, watching his fingers on the dark skin in the soft light coming from the balcony. Porthos stirs, grumbles, makes to swat the disturbing touch. Aramis' deep laughter shakes him. Enough for Porthos to grab the other's waist without opening his eyes so that Aramis is buried against his side and can't quite move anymore.

 

“Why d'you wake me up for?”

 

“Because you were gorgeous and also payback for waking me up last night in the car.”

 

Porthos grunts, squeezes his boyfriend who yields to the nice pressure. There's a kiss dropped on top of his head. Aramis sneaks one arm around Porthos' stomach. His chest is hot under his cheek.

 

“My ankle hurts,” he confesses.

 

“Did you take your meds?”

 

“I did.”

 

“Good.”

 

“I don't want it to get in the way.”

 

“You always have your crutches if it bothers you too much.”

 

Aramis sighs. It might be the better option for the day. He doesn't plan on staying in the house. He wants to enjoy as much time outside with his family as he can.

 

“I know what would make feel even better.”

 

He smirks up at Porthos in the halo of the lamp on the bedside table. Still groggy, Porthos nevertheless submits to the kissing and the groping. All the sighing that ensues tells him that Aramis is recovering quite well with this particular medicine. Porthos rolls them around, flush on top of Aramis, careful with his legs. His boyfriend isn't.

 

There's a thud somewhere in the corridor then, which makes them still and hush. Quick pattering, one door creaking open, Anne softly asking Mati to wait for her and the child replying quite forcefully that he can pee by himself. Aramis has a hard time muffling his laughter. Porthos is biting his cheek. Mati always speaks Spanish upon waking up and Aramis praises Porthos for having improved that much over the months. He's proud of him. Porthos gives his boyfriend another long kiss to thank him.

 

They wait until silence settles to move again, lying close to the other, staring up at the ceiling.

 

“Do you talk to Anne sometimes? About me?” Porthos asks, head cushioned on his hands. Aramis' breathing is calm by his side, but they both know they won't go back to sleep this morning.

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“She mentioned something about not messing with our schedule, that's why.”

 

“I must have said something about it in passing.”

 

“Can you not do that, please?”

 

“Why? It was clearly bothering you and since she's part of it, it was obvious she had to know about it.”

 

“Can you not do it behind my back? If it's about me, then I should be there when you discuss it.”

 

“Sure. But I don't see why you should be so upset about it. I was only doing it for you.”

 

“I'm not upset.” His sharp tone has been suggesting otherwise. Aramis doesn't like what it's implying. He would never keep secrets from Porthos, he would never talk badly about him. Especially not with Anne.

 

Porthos isn't upset that Aramis has been trying to find ways to make him more comfortable. What troubles him is that his boyfriend would talk about anything regarding him with someone outside of their relationship. No matter who she is. Especially if she's Anne.

 

“Whatever, Porthos.”

 

“Don't whatever me, Aramis.”

 

Aramis takes a deep breath. Another one and another one. He doesn't want to fight. Neither does Porthos. He feels slightly better, though, having told his boyfriend what was on his mind. Aramis shifts to prop himself on an elbow.

 

“I won't do it again,” he promises, soothing the worry lines on Porthos' forehead. “You're right.” He drops one sweet kiss there, one on Porthos' nose until he's smiling again and Aramis can kiss these welcoming lips.

 

There's so much more Porthos would like to talk about if they had the time. But they don't, as someone dashes in the corridor and swings the bedroom door wide open, blinding them both with the bright light. Anne sounds outraged chasing after her son who has already scrambled on the bed, his father quick to withdraw so his foot won't be squashed to death.

 

“Good morning, Papá! Good morning, Porfos!”

 

“Mati! We talked about that!” Anne exclaims, coming to a stop on the threshold. Her son gives her one sheepish smile, before being crushed in Porthos' arms, taken over by a fit of giggles. “Sorry.”

 

“You mean he never wakes _you_ up like this?” Aramis tries to avoid the flailing arms. Porthos sucks in a breath when he somehow gets punched in the stomach. The comforter is thrown at the end of the bed so that Aramis can escape its trap. Mati is squirming too much. His father will get his good morning kiss later.

 

“Why? Is that how he wakes you up?”

 

“When Porthos and I can sleep in, yes.” Which is why they never actually sleep in whenever Mati stays with them. Aramis stretches, wiggles his foot and decides that he'll live with the slight pain for a few hours. Anne is still waiting in the corridor, clutching her wrap-over top to her chest and avoiding eye contact while he puts on a tee-shirt.

 

“Sleep in? What is that?” Anne jokes, standing on her tiptoes to give Aramis a kiss on the cheek.

 

“Something magical, I've heard. Isn't that right, Porthos?”

 

“Yes. Ouch!” One small hand smacks him in his chest and soon, Mati finds himself out of breath, shaken by so much laughter he can't make a sound anymore. He's lying on the mattress, his pjs in a pitiful state. But he's on cloud nine, jumping on Porthos once more when he's recovered.

 

Anne forgets that she should be ashamed her son has erupted like this in the bedroom. Instead, she can only marvel at how well they get along, Porthos and Mati. They've never spent an entire weekend from the moment they wake up to the moment they go to sleep just the four of them without any other outsiders and there are so many little things she discovers about their life. So many things the men also discover about Anne's routine with the child.

 

It starts with breakfast, which is mainly composed of cereal because Aramis didn't come all the way here to spend his time stuck in front of the stove.

 

“Put the music on, Mamá!” Mati shouts, running in the kitchen, bouncing. Overexcited so early in the morning. It's going to be a long day.

 

“What music?” Aramis asks.

 

“We listen to music when we have time in the morning.”

 

“And we dance! Mamá, music!”

 

“Yes, yes. Calm down.” Anne fumbles with her phone, Aramis raising an eyebrow. He's never heard of such a thing they would do just the two of them. Porthos shrugs, and hardly has time to pour himself milk before Mati tugs on his tee-shirt.

 

“You dance, too, Porfos! Dance, dance!”

 

“How come you never dance with us?”

 

“I dance with Mamá. But you can, too, Papá!”

 

“I'd love to, sweetie. My foot hurts, though. Porthos will dance for the both of us, won't he?”

 

“Quitter,” Porthos jokes, kissing Aramis full on the lips before complying and joining the jumping child.

 

It's a nice sight to wake up to. Made all the more better by Porthos who awkwardly dances close to Mati. He's no idea what moves he should make even if it becomes clear after a few seconds that all that matters is to run around as fast as the boy can, flapping his arms until he's grasped his mother's hand and then Porthos' and they start running in circles.

 

Aramis' jaw begins to ache: he's smiling and laughing way too much at the scene. Anne has completely forgotten that she's having an audience, wrapped up that she is in her son and his antics. She's graceful even when her dancing resembles trampling. It turns slightly better after Mati has lost interest to pick cereal in his bowl and stick them in his mouth.

 

It's not as upsetting as Aramis might have imagined to see Anne dance alone with Porthos. There's barely any rhythm to their moves and yet there's no hesitation to clasp hands to try to stick to one. Mati demands to hop on his father's lap to enjoy the show as well. He's clapping his hands because everything seems exceptional.

 

The way his mother keeps on laughing and smiling. The way her ponytail swings behind her head. The way she almost trips on her own foot when _Porfos_ makes her twirl. This is pretty. Mati likes how his mother turns and turns. How she stumbles against _Porfos_ and they eventually decide they've had enough exercise for the day. They have no intention to visit the local hospital.

 

Anne is out of breath when she collapses on her chair. She's flushed and happy. Not enough not to notice the watchful glance Aramis eyes her with. It's too quick and soon he's focused on Porthos sitting by his side, on stealing from his orange juice and on touching his arm. All the time. Aramis only relinquishes his hold after they are done eating and Mati decides he wants his stepfather to help him dress.

 

His shrills fill the house. Porthos has picked him up, thrown him on his shoulder and he's carrying him down the hall like that.

 

“I just love how we're three to take care of him.” Anne comes to sit in Porthos' seat, bumps Aramis' shoulder as she does so. He merely nods to acknowledge her. “Was that okay?”

 

“What?”

 

“Me. Dancing with Porthos.”

 

“Sure it was. You were having fun.”

 

“You didn't....I mean...You didn't seem really pleased, Aramis.” She doesn't want any tension between them. Not if they want to spend a memorable time together. He waves his hand.

 

“It's nothing. My ankle's bothering me, that's all.” And that's true. Moving about like they did would have only worsened it. Besides, Anne looked quite enthusiastic for the few minutes she spent on their feet. It was worth watching. Aramis won't dwell on how he wished they hadn't touched as much as they did. It's useless.

 

“He's so wonderful. You're lucky.”

 

“I am.” Which is why he won't overthink meaningless gestures. Spurs of the moment. Anne sighs, plays with crumbs on the table. “You'll be lucky, too, one day. I know it.”

 

“Yes, perhaps. It's just...sometimes...I watch you two and....I'm afraid I won't find anyone who completes me as much as Porthos does for you. Someone who will accept our situation like he did. Like he's doing.”

 

“It's not easy. For him or for us, I suppose. We're doing our best. But he's not unique. I mean, I guess he is, but his behavior. If someone else shares it, such acceptance and understanding, then I've no doubt you'll find them as well. Just you wait.”

 

Aramis squeezes her hand to reassure her. She clutches the sticky fingers, half smiles. She rests her head on his shoulder and listens to how it rises with each breath he takes. It settles her heart. She has no intention to mess their relationship and yet she enjoys Porthos' company. She's at ease in it. But she wants one of her own so much. She wants to experience what Aramis has.

 

Anne may be a little bit jealous of them. How often they kiss or touch. How their eyes constantly seek the other in the room. How they talk to each other. She wants it all for herself.

 

“I want you to be happy, Anne. With all my heart. You moved to Paris partly because I've ties there now and it's uprooted you. It's changed my life for the best, though, so I need it to be the same for you. I couldn't forgive myself otherwise.”

 

Anne closes her eyes at the fingers playing with her hair, grazing the nape of her neck. It's comforting. She's missed it.

 

“Any man would be fortunate to have you, Anne. Or any woman. You know, anyone.”

 

She laughs out loud, slaps him playfully on the chest and straightens up. His cheeky smile makes her feel better.

 

“I've something to tell you later today.”

 

“About a woman?”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh. About a man?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“ _Oh_. What is it?”

 

“I promised Porthos I'd tell you both at the same time.”

 

“You told Porthos before me?” There's a pang of hurt in his hushed protest that Anne doesn't appreciate one bit.

 

“I just told you I didn't, Aramis. Don't worry. You're still my favorite.”

 

She pats his arm as she says so, even if he watches her carefully while she puts the dishes away before going off to get dressed. The sunshine in her voice at knowing she will likely share what can only be a good news with them is refreshing. Aramis hasn't seen her like this in a long time. He may never have seen her so enthusiastic or talking so casually about someone who has caught her eyes.

 

The day cannot pass fast enough. They do a lot. It's sunny in spite of the cold and there's a strong wind on the coast. But Porthos was correct, the cliffs are spectacular. Aramis hangs on tight to his boyfriend during their walk, relieved that his son seems to have undertood his struggle to walk quickly and so monopolizes Anne instead. Porthos' strong arm around his waist is a support as well as a source of warmth. Aramis feeds on it.

 

On the nonsense they tell one another when there's a moment of respite. The air is salty, the wind blows hard and Aramis' scarf is constantly hitting him in the face. On the other hand, Porthos with a hat on has always been one of his boyfriend's favourite looks. He loves how soft and fluffy it is. How it comes down on Porthos' forehead and with his scarf, you can barely see anything of his face anymore. Only dimples and hints of his moustache.

 

The city hosts a Museum of Chocolate which becomes a necessary item on their sight-seeing tour. After their lunch in a little restaurant with a giant fireplace and even a dog sleeping in a basket by it. Which prompts Mati to wonder why none of his parents have a pet like that. He even had to leave his bird in Spain and it was a tragedy.

 

“Our appartments are all too small. It'd be miserable,” Aramis explains. Mati is half-standing up on his chair, squirming while the napkin is being tied around his neck.

 

“But, Papá...”

 

“Do you want a sad dog?”

 

“No, but....”

 

“It'd be sad in our home. And I'm sure it'd be too in Mamá's.”

 

“Absolutely,” Anne confirms and pours some juice for her son to distract him. It mildly works.

 

“A cat?” Mati insists after a couple of sips. He's looking at all of them hopefully. But they're standing their ground, focused on their food.

 

“Papá's allergic to cats. Here, have a French fry,” Aramis holds it to the child's mouth.

 

“Papá!”

 

“What? It's not my fault I'm allergic to them. Don't chew with your mouth open.”

 

“If you want a pet so badly, your mom could always get another bird.”

 

“Shut up, Porthos!”

 

She kicks his leg under the table, which makes him chuckle louder. Mati is too engrossed in his food and his effort to keep his mouth closed that by the time he can resume this conversation, the adults have thankfully moved on to another one and the child has forgotten that he desperately wants a new pet.

 

On the other hand, Mati never forgets how good chocolate tastes and at the end of the tour in the small museum, he can sample some. Which in his mind actually meant that he was choosing the one they would buy. He's satisfied by the lollipop his father hands him. He eats it while he plays in the park with Porthos. His parents have gone grocery shopping for their dinner.

 

Falling in the mud wasn't something his stepfather could prevent. Neither could he stop the boy from ending up with soaked clothes because the slide was more damp than they'd imagined. Porthos is nevertheless a bit embarassed when they join Aramis and Anne and he has to present their son in a less than acceptable state.

 

Aramis' answer is to snort. Anne frowns and makes them all hurry home so Mati won't get sick. He's giggling all the way to the car. But beside having to change his clothes, his adventure means he has to take a bath.

 

“It smells good, 'mis,” Porthos says, humming the fine flavors invading the kitchen. His boyfriend is taking advantage of a childfree moment to start cooking. Aramis leans against Porthos who has wrapped his arms around the other's waist. He kisses the soft skin of Aramis' neck, rests his chin on his shoulder and watches what is happening on the stove. “It always does.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Can I help?”

 

“You can stay right where you are.”

 

Porthos hugs him closer, presses the palms of his hands on his boyfriend's stomach so he can feel their weight even through clothing. Aramis sighs. He's been having such a fantastic day. He's tired, but so is Porthos, judging by the yawn he tries to stifle.

 

“What are you making?”

 

“Soup. Don't worry, there's also some meat for your primal needs,” Aramis adds to answer Porthos' groan. He squirms at the ticklish fingers. “And wine.”

 

“White?”

 

“Is there any other sort we like?”

 

“Awesome. Do you want some?”

 

“When don't I?”

 

Porthos leans against the counter with his own glass, admiring how dedicated his boyfriend is to his cuisine. How he takes one sip every time he stops to smile at Porthos and kiss him. So wrapped up in each other that Anne has to clear her throat for them to notice she's in the room.

 

“I've put Mati in front of a movie so we could have a normal conversation at last.”

 

“Wine?” Aramis offers, checking his preparation before pouring her some. Her sleeves look damp. Mati can be a menace in the bathroom. Aramis graciously sits on Porthos' lap, one arm around the other's shoulder and both sets of eyes staring straight at her.

 

“What?” Anne eventually says, her eyes resolutely set on her full glass. There's a light blush blooming on her cheeks.

 

“Well, don't you have something to tell us?”

 

“I met someone.”

 

“Yes, we already figured that out. So?” Aramis insists. Porthos squeezes his waist to tell him to calm down. His boyfriend is too excited. Or apprehensive. He isn't sure what Aramis is feeling right now.

 

“We've been going out a couple of times. That was the movie I told you about,” she explains to Porthos who nods. He'd understood that. She's smiling at the memories, even if she avoids looking at Aramis who is asking a thousand questions.

 

“How did you meet him? It's a man,” he tells Porthos, delighted that he also knew something the other didn't.

 

“There was a private viewing at a museum last month. He's one of the patrons.”

 

“Nice. How's he like?”

 

“He's very good company. I mean, I guess I've forgotten what it was like to date someone but with him it's almost fine. It doesn't stress me out too much.”

 

“It shouldn't.” After so long, Aramis can understand her apprehension and he's insistent on the fact that no one should hold it against her. He's wanted her to open up as long as it made her happy. Not if it makes her nervous.

 

“Isn't it like that on the first date?”

 

“Our experience isn't really helpful here,” Porthos concedes. Anne laughed for long minutes when they told her how they met and how their first dates, if could call them such, went. They haven't had quite a normal relationship at their beginnings.

 

“I'm more relaxed now, though. Last Wednesday was great. He's charming. I think he likes me.”

 

“Who wouldn't? Does he know about Mati?”

 

“No. It's so new and I don't want....I don't know. He needs a stable life. Not for people to come and go.”

 

Their discussion in the morning comes back to the fore. Aramis understands why she's afraid of not finding the right partner. What if this man ends up not wanting to be burdened by her son? The longer she goes out with him without telling him, though, the more difficult it'd be. He tells her so.

 

“How long did you wait before telling Porthos?”

 

“Not long. But mainly because he forced me to. Mati was sick at the time, wasn't he?”

 

“Yeah, he was. And you were miserable and you were so scared I would ditch you because you had a child.”

 

Aramis buries his face in Porthos' neck to thank him. He's been wonderful from the day he's learned about Mati.

 

“If he likes you, Anne, then he'll probably understands. And if he doesn't, then he wasn't the right one for you,” Porthos reassures her. She's smiling faintly above the rim of her glass.

 

“Yep. Who wouldn't like you in spite of Mati anyway? Look at you. You're amazing.”

 

“And you're funny,” Porthos supplies.

 

“Strong-willed.”

 

“And generous.”

 

“Even if you're bossy sometimes.” Aramis winks at her, grinning. So does Porthos. It's good to see Anne shaking her head at their silliness. She appreciates the compliments all the same. Along with the hug Aramis beckons her closer for.

 

“Do you think he's good for her?” Aramis asks Porthos once Anne has gone to change out of her wet clothes, relieved to have been able to talk about the development in her life. Glad to have confided in people she can trust. She's thrilled to move on and yet terrified that it could all come crashing down at any time.

 

“How can I tell? We don't know him.” Porthos shrugs. He's setting the table, his back on Aramis but he can hear the disapproval in his boyfriend's voice nonetheless.

 

“He better be. I don't want him to break her heart.”

 

“Weren't you the one insisting that she should meet more people?”

 

“Yes but now....”

 

“You're not her father, Aramis. I've had a lot of terrible relationships and I recovered. That's life.”

 

“I know that, Porthos. But she's Anne. I don't want her to get hurt.”

 

“She's taking a chance. You should be proud of her.”

 

Porthos is right. Of course he is. Aramis believed he would be more excited about Anne finally allowing herself to trust others enough. He strangely isn't. It's her life, but it could have repercussions on his son, and so on him. She's accepted Porthos easily, though. He should be able to do the same for her. Except that Porthos is one of a kind.

 

“Do you think we'd be allowed to punch him in the face if he hurts her?”

 

“Why so violent, eh? For all we know, he might be a great fellow. Quit worrying your pretty head over it, Aramis.” Porthos lands a resounding kiss on his boyfriend's forehead, rubs his lower back. He understand Aramis' motivation and hopes they'll never come to that. As far as he's concerned, Porthos is happy for Anne.

 

They don't talk about it for the rest of the evening. It's not their place to do so, especially with Mati around. He's less energetic than he was during the day, all the fresh air and the walking and the many activities taking their toll on him. The movie is barely finished that he is already drowsing on his father's chest. There's isn't even a stir when Anne gathers him in her arms to take him to bed.

 

Aramis is lounging on the couch, too lazy to turn off the TV. The music is lulling him to sleep as well. He welcomes Porthos familiar bulk on top of him, until his boyfriend is almost lying on top of him, careful to not put pressure on a sore ankle Aramis hasn't complained about during the entire day. It's a relief.

 

“Hey,” Aramis greets him, looking down at Porthos and his kind eyes. Porthos rests his hands on the other's chest, rests his chin on top of them. Aramis's fingers are busy massaging the nape of his neck, relaxing the muscles there.

 

“I've had a very good day, 'mis.”

 

“So have I.”

 

“It should always be like this,” Porthos ponders out loud. “Four of us during the day and then I get you all to myself at night.”

 

Aramis indulges him with a kiss. Not quick like they've done throughout the day. With no child to interrupt, they take their time. There's the bitter taste of coffee in Porthos' mouth and then on Aramis' tongue. Porthos shifts to kneel closer in between Aramis' legs, enjoying the hand on his arm, and the other pushing his head as close as Aramis can.

 

His boyfriend's confession warms him from head to toes. It makes his heart jump with pleasure and joy in his chest. Porthos is finally acknowledging how good and potentially benefical their puzzling arrangement and subsequent family is. It couldn't make Aramis more content.

 

It would really be quite nice. Having Anne and especially Mati always with them. Potentially exhausting. Something that Porthos must have overlooked since he groans as soon as Aramis mentions it.

 

“I hadn't thought about that. Dammit. Your child is too hyper.”

 

“Only because he loves us. I love you, too, Porthos.”

 

“Love you.”

 

“I'll leave you two alone, then.”

 

Anne's quiet voice comes to break their bubble. Porthos struggles to straighten a little on the couch, crushing his boyfriend in the process. He's stopped being embarassed at being caught kissing or cuddling with Aramis. Anne's getting used to it. It always gives her fuzzy feelings to see her friends so wrapped up on each other.

 

“We can be decent, you know.” Aramis regrets the interruption anyway.

 

“I'm tired anyway.” She's holding the book she picked while perusing the extensive library in her bedroom. “Are we going to church in the morning?”

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“Mati asked.”

 

“Does he want to go?”

 

“I suppose.”

 

“Porthos?”

 

“I don't mind.” He really doesn't. Aramis always explains everything more clearly than Porthos has never been taught. It's interesting. The hymns are beautiful. Besides, Aramis needs to go from time to time. Porthos is growing to appreciate it. Anne is obviously delighted by their decision as she saunters to the couch to give them both goodnight kisses.

 

“You should shave. The both of you. Your faces itch!”

 

Aramis reminds her to mind her own business, pushing her away from him. Porthos pats his cheek to assess if she's correct or not. Then he decides that she's simply too delicate.

 

“Now, where were we?” He pulls Aramis on a sitting position on the couch, wraps his arms around his waist until they're flushed together. Aramis grins mischievously.

 

“That's better.”

 

* * *

 

Mati is fascinated by the statues in the church, by the high ceilings and all the characters sculpted on the columns. He's tugging on his father's hand to make him move forward. They've come early just so they would have time to look around. Even Porthos has to crane his head to see the end of the tower, high up there in darkness. There's so much light coming from outside that everything inside seems to shine in the winter glow.

 

It's a tiny bit cold, though, Anne finds out. Wearing a dress, albeit with tights, might not have been a clever idea. Soon after they're all huddled on a pew and Mati claims her lap, she feels somewhat warmer, thankful for her scarf and the coat.

 

Literally everyone who walks past them glances at their group, mainly since it's a small church in a small town and they are clearly new to everybody else. Porthos doesn't mind. He's busy listening to Aramis explaining something to Mati about a statue. He's still holding his boyfriend's hand.

 

“Hello. Excuse me? Hello.” Three heads and a half turn in the general direction of the smiling woman standing in the aisle. “Welcome. You must be new here.”

 

“We're on holidays, yes.”

 

“Marvelous. We have a Sunday school room for children for the beginning of the service if you're interested. He might be less bored that way.”

 

“What do you say, Mati?” Aramis asks. But the boy has withdrawn against his mother's chest, hiding his face there and fingers in his mouth. He shakes his head.

 

“Why? Are you playing shy now? Don't you want to go?”

 

“We're going to draw about the scripture lesson today,” the kind woman supplies.

 

“Do you hear that, sweetie? You'll draw.” It sparks some interest and Mati timidly raises his head to look at Anne. He's not quite convinced to leave the adults he knows and trusts. He has no friend in that room the woman he's talking about. He doesn't know her.

 

“It's been such a long time since you've made me a drawing,” Porthos adds, deep tone and eyes looking straight at Mati. “You make terrific drawings, buddy. And after you can tell me all about what you learned. What do you think about that? I'd love to be your age and be able to go.”

 

“Oh, your mom or your dad can come with you, if you want.” The woman glances at Porthos, unable to decide what his role in their family is. So she doesn't say anything, too afraid that she'll make a mistake.

 

“Papá?”

 

“Do you mind?” Aramis asks Porthos. He hasn't come here to leave his boyfriend alone. Porthos shakes his head. He's fine with it. They didn't come to church to chit-chat anyway and he'll still have Anne. Who is quick to huddle closer to his body warmth once Aramis steps into the aisle with the boy in his arms. He kisses Porthos thank you, hears someone make a disapproving sound behind him. Does it again just because. And again. Porthos' lips are soft and welcoming and thankful and they won't take any bullshit today. No matter the setting.

 

“He's limping a little,” Anne points out.

 

 _But he has a fine ass_ , Porthos almost says. This would be inappropriate, regardless of how accurate the observation is.

 

“I can't imagine how worse it would have been if he had broken it again,” he replies instead. His boyfriend would have been miserable. He already is too much, not knowing when he'll be able to pick up his sword again.

 

“Yes, I remember how dejected he was last time he did break it. So sad. As if his entire world had ended. Which I guess it had. I think that's one of the only times I saw him really cry. God, I felt so bad for him. I would have done anything to...I mean....that's not....”

 

Anne suddenly seems to realize what she is talking about and what happened later on after Aramis was too distressed and she was quite brokenhearted for him as well. She blushes a little. She's talking to his _boyfriend_ after all. Porthos shrugs.

 

“Hey, Mati's here. He didn't appear out of thin air, did he? It's fine. It was a long time ago.”

 

“Yes.” She hopes everyone will be as open-minded as Porthos is. He's raising the stakes for any person she's attempting to share time with. How could anyone measure to his kindness, his softness, his heart?

 

Aramis is back not too long after the mass has actually started. He squeezes between Anne and Porthos, gives him one tiny kiss on the cheek and whispers that Mati is loving it so he won't mind one bit if he's being left alone. Having Aramis by his side is better. Better to sing and better to follow what is being said. Better to constantly have their fingers threaded together.

 

They keep on holding hands after the service, when Porthos's heart is filled with peace for a few moments. It was a beautiful time, Aramis passionate and engrossed in it all. Quiet and so beautiful in his worship. Porthos loved watching him. He loves the sparkle in his boyfriend's eyes when he opens them once more, content. He also loves the drawing Mati presents him with. He's made two because he has two homes.

 

He runs in front of them while they take a stroll on the beach. They've been promising him this since they told him about going on a little holiday. The sand isn't the best for Aramis to walk, but they go slow, let Mati dash with his arms oustretched. The wind is blowing strongly against them. Aramis hangs on to Porthos' arm.

 

“This is perfect, Porthos.”

 

It's rather close, that's for sure.

 

Porthos comes to a halt, shifts so he can trap Aramis in his arms. There's a beaming face looking up at him. Aramis's nose is red, so are his cheeks and his well-trimmed beard from this morning looks exquisite. It was worth waking up early.

 

Porthos squeezes the life out of his boyfriend who doesn't complain as his feet leave the ground for a second. Aramis always marvels at the other's strength and what he does with it. Porthos is the embodiement of so many wonderful qualities that it makes his boyfriend's heart burst with happiness. It'll never get old.

 

“Thank you for letting them come,” Aramis whispers against Porthos' mouth. Their noses bump together. It leads to giggles.

 

“I'm really glad it worked out so well, 'mis. They're the best. You're the best.”

 

“I love you so much.” Aramis buries his head on Porthos' chest, feels the strong hands clutching his back despite the layers of clothing. Porthos isn't ready to let him go either.

 

Until there's a sharp shrill behind them, a loud splash and they have to wipe their heads around.

 

They haven't been paying attention to Anne, wrapped as they were in their little world so she's scampered off with her son to prevent him from getting too close to the waves and the freezing water. Except that in doing so, she's somewhat managed to fall head first in the sand, sputtering salty water. Soaked from head to toe, hair hanging damp down her back.

 

For a split second, Aramis thinks about laughing because the situation is hilarious. Her legs stretched in front of her, and Mati clueless as to whether he should help her stand up because she keeps telling him not to come or he'll fall as well. But then, Aramis realizes that she's having a difficult time standing up by herself, that she's only wearing a dress and tights and that there is water lapping at her back.

 

She must be freezing.

 

It's Porthos who comes to her rescue, sweeping her off her feet effortlessly, carrying her back to a safe spot far, far away from the ocean. Her teeth are chattering. Wrapping her arms tight around herself is obviously not helping. Anne refuses the coat the men want to give her. No point in having all of them sick.

 

Aramis gives in to laughter hours later when they are in the living room in front of the fire Porthos has managed to build, that she has changed into warmer and drier clothes and that they are having hot chocolate for dessert.

 

It'll teach her to try to run after an energetic five-year old.

 

She nonetheless smacks Aramis' head for making fun of her. And gives Porthos one tight hug for helping her on a beach. A true gentleman.

 

 


	13. February (Part III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "italics" ? Yes, Spanish. You got it.

Constance was prepared for the onslaught of questions coming from Aramis, especially since he was well aware she had another dress fitting in the morning. She's rather proud of herself for standing her ground despite how persistent he is. It doesn't help that d'Artagnan isn't at home so there's no risk that showing _him_ her wedding dress would ruin the surprise for her husband-to-be. Something that Aramis has been stressing quite a few times ever since he's arrived.

 

“Come on, Constance. One picture, just one. Even a bad one. I don't mind.”

 

“No. I don't want you to fill d'Art in.”

 

“I wouldn't! I swear. Just one tiny ridiculous shot. You can even just wave the screen at me for a second. Blurry is better than nothing.”

 

She fails to see how he'd manage to catch anything if she were to do this. Aramis doesn't seem to have a problem with it. He's been begging her for months and he's so excited. Perhaps even more than she is. You'd think it was his wedding they were planning.

 

“And how do you know I have pictures in the first place?”

 

“Please, Constance. Who doesn't?”

 

“No.”

 

“Or a sketch. One sketch.”

 

“How do you know I have sketches of it?”

 

“Because that's what you do for a living. A rough one. I don't mind. So I can see what you'll look like.”

 

“Aramis, we're getting married in the countryside and we're having the reception in an old barn.”

 

“Your point?”

 

“I won't wear an haute-couture dress in such locations.”

 

“So? It doesn't mean you didn't sketch your dress. You did, didn't you?”

 

“You know I did. I'm still not showing you anything.”

 

“All right. Not the whole thing. How about like half of it? The top? Or the skirt? Or are you wearing a suit? I heard that was a thing these days.”

 

“I'm leaving this for you men. I'm wearing a dress and it's going to be wonderful.”

 

Constance flashes him the brightest smile she's capable of, her eyes lighting up with mischief. Aramis falls back in his chair, huffing loudly. He crosses his arms on his chest and keeps throwing angry glances at her while she clears the table to get down to business.

 

“It's not fair, Constance. I can keep a secret.”

 

“Why are you insisting so much? You're d'Art's best man. Same rules apply to you.”

 

“Says who?”

 

“Says me.”

 

“But if you told me, I could prepare him. Tell him that you'll be magnificent and I'd know that I should catch him so he doesn't faint when he finally sees you on the big day.”

 

“Nice try. Still no.” She pats his arm, focuses on opening the cake boxes, adamant that she wouldn't give in the puppy eyes she can feel on her right.

 

“But, Constance!”

 

“Dear God, you're a worse whiner than your child!”

 

“My child doesn't whine!” Aramis jumps a little on his seat, eager to defend Mati's honour, even though Constance is correct. Well, Mati doesn't spend his life whining but it's something he resorts to rather often. It never works.

 

“He totally does, whenever he doesn't get what he wants.”

 

“It's cute, isn't it?” It's not. Aramis has a headache whenever they have to stand up to the boy. It's like their arguments are endless. Be it about bedtime, a toy or food. They're also pointless, given that Mati never wins. But Aramis will stand up to Constance no matter what. _He_ isn't a whiner.

 

“When he does it, absolutely.”

 

“Not when _I_ do it?”

 

He can indeed be such a child, Constance thinks. It's funny, though. She bites her cheek, glances at the clock and decides that they'll have to start without d'Artagnan.

 

“Here, have some cake, Aramis.”

 

Putting them back on track, Constance sticks a spoon in her friend's hand. Aramis has always made fantastic desserts and while she couldn't ask him to make anything for their wedding, because there would be just too many people to feed, she values his opinion immensely. As far as wedding cakes are concerned.

 

Aramis studies the treats carefully. So much sugar. In so many different forms: mousse and cake and cream and frosting. His teeth ache just looking at them. On the other hand his stomach rumbles as if he hadn't eaten a full meal beforehand.

 

“I'm trying to lose weight, Constance.”

 

She rolls her eyes and puts the entire slice of chocolate mousse cake in his plate.

 

“Nonsense. You knew what you were getting into when you came here tonight.”

 

“Yeah, but I didn't think you would feed me beforehand.”

 

“And you planned on living on cake for the evening? I don't know what kind of diet you're into, Aramis, but it's not going to work.”

 

“I'm trying to eat less because I feel like all my pants have shrunk down. Oi!”

 

Aramis recoils under Constance's unexpected slap on the back of his head. She does it again for good measure until he brandishes his spoon like a weapon in front of his face.

 

“It's true! I'd show you but I don't think your fiancé would like to find me half-naked in here with you.”

 

“He certainly wouldn't, no.”

 

Focused on fighting off his friend, they were oblivious to the key in the lock, the bag dropped on the floor and d'Artagnan joining them in the kitchen. Constance forgets her current mission to spring to her feet and hug him close. He hasn't had time to take a shower and he smells. But she doesn't mind. She likes the smell of working-out on him. It smells like the gym and it simply means he'll have to take a shower in their appartment. Which will undoubtedly lead to more perks for her.

 

“Why did you want to strip anyway?” d'Artagnan asks, running a hand in his dirty hair. He sits down and eats a large portion of the lemon cake without waiting for an invitation. Constance glowers at him, pulls the box away. Then she glowers at Aramis again.

 

“ _He_ says he's putting on weight.” She shakes her head, finding the mere idea completely absurd.

 

“I am! It's been forever since I've been able to do any sport.”

 

“Yeah, we miss you, by the way. The kids do as well. They weren't exactly thrilled that I had to teach the class tonight.”

 

“Aw, come on. You're the best. After me, of course.” Aramis winks.

 

“You're aware that you could still work-out even if your ankle is recovering, aren't you?” Constance cuts their banter short. Aramis cocks his head at her. “I mean, you obviously can't run or fence, but what about lifting weight? I'm sure Porthos must have some equipment that you could use and which wouldn't require you to put a strain on your injury.”

 

Aramis keeps on looking at her as if she were the wisest woman in the world until a smile breaks on his face. Constance cannot help but roll her eyes at him once more. It feels as if it's the only thing she's been doing tonight.

 

“You're a genius, Constance!”

 

“Are you seriously telling me that you and your boyfriend who owns a gym didn't think about this?”

 

Aramis is fast to put both arms in front of his face if she wants to hit him once again.

 

“.....no.”

 

“Men!”

 

d'Artagnan chuckles, steals some of the chocolate cake and gets smacked on the back of the hand by Constance. They're not eating dessert just for the pleasure to do so. This is important, she reminds them. She has three copies of her checklist that she hands them and that they must fill in very carefully. Constance turns into someone quite strict and won't even allow them to share their opinion with each other. She doesn't want them to be influenced.

 

With all these flavors mixing in his mouth, Aramis finds it sort of difficult to pick a favorite. He does know, however, that the caramel one will probably send everyone on a sugar high.

 

“Do you know if Anne plans on bringing someone?” Constance inquires after d'Artagnan has wiped the drop of strawberry coulis off her cheek and she's kissed him thank you. Aramis shrugs.

 

“She told us she was seeing someone but I don't....”

 

“Is she now?”

 

“Yes. She told us this weekend. It's not been long, though, so I don't know about this summer.”

 

“Well, it doesn't really matter, does it? We can always order one more meal, can't we?”

 

d'Artagnan nods to confirm. This wedding is so expensive as it is already. What is one more plate? As long as he doesn't have to sit through the ordeal of reworking the seating chart, he's fine with anything.

 

Just then, Aramis' phone chirps from somewhere in the corridor. Speak of the Devil.

 

“Hey! We were just talking about you!” He greets Anne, but it's definitely not her voice on the other end of the line.

 

“ _Papá?”_

 

“ _Mati? What's going on? Where's Mam_ _á_ _?”_ He's learned not to panic without good reason. There must be a perfectly good explanation for his son to call. Mati can handle any technology without problem.

 

“ _She's in bed. She's sick. I think.”_

 

Again?

 

“ _Is she awake, sweetie? Can you give her the phone?”_

 

“ _She's shaking. Like when I go out of the bath, you know, Papá?”_

 

“ _Yes. Can you give her the phone?”_

 

There's pattering on the line then muffled voices and Aramis can hear Anne groan from the far reaches of the phone.

 

“Hello?” One word and Aramis is certain this time it's not a stomach bug like she had on New Year's Eve. Her voice is hoarse and she coughs a few times.

 

“Hey, it's Aramis. What's wrong?”

 

“How did you know?”

“I didn't. Mati called me.”

 

Anne must attempt to laugh but with her throat hurting and feeling raw, it ends up being a gargle. The child is eyeing her with concern, at least as much as he can muster for his young age. The fact that she's been comatose for a couple of hours must have triggered his actions. And who else could he turn to?

 

“I guess I caught something after I fell in the water on Sunday. It's _so_ cold.”

 

They should have expected it. Aramis rubs his eyes.

 

“Did you see a doctor?”

 

“I'm going tomorrow morning but....”

 

“You're all white!” Aramis hears Mati's small voice chiming in. Anne asks him to hop down the bed and go find a game to play with for a few minutes. Feet pad away and there's more background noise before they can resume their conversation.

 

“Did you take any meds?”

 

“I don't know what I have. I took some painkillers but they're no use.” Anne didn't want to have to do this. She used to be able to solve this type of problems by herself in Spain. She had her parents to help in Spain, though. And since Aramis has been forced on her tonight.... “I was wondering if....I'm aware it's last minute and you might have other plans but I...I haven't even made dinner yet.”

 

It's 8.30pm. Far past dinner time for Mati. Closer to his bedtime. It's a good thing he's on a school break.

 

Aramis doesn't hesitate.

 

“I'll call Porthos just to make sure that it's good with him and I'll come by as soon as I can.”

 

“Thank you, Aramis.”

 

The line goes dead more quickly than Aramis would have liked it. She truly sounded miserable. After New Year's Eve, she's known how Porthos felt about changing their weekly schedule and even though it's Mati who prompted the phone call tonight, these are two completely different situations. Besides, Porthos has been making efforts, which is exactly why even if he is surprised by his boyfriend's phonecall and the reason why they have to take Mati in for at least one night, he doesn't go against it.

 

The way Anne fell in the ocean wearing these clothes and given how long it took them to go back to the house so she could change, it's no wonder she's sick. Porthos nonetheless hopes that it's not something serious and that it isn't contagious. He doesn't want Mati to have caught it and to spread it in their appartment.

 

It's a pity he has to leave Flea and Charon as he was really liking spending more time with them but Aramis had stressed quite fiercely that the child would starve if they didn't find something to munch on. Porthos hopes his boyfriend won't object to fast-food.

 

Constance is rather disappointed as well that her friend has to leave earlier than planned. They haven't even finished tasting all the cakes. But Aramis has filled in most of his checklist, enough for them to make a choice. And after all, with all that is left, d'Artagnan decides that without Aramis in the way, there are far more better ways to eat the treats than with a spoon and a plate. Better places too than sitting at a table.

 

Porthos is heating up the chicken nuggets when Aramis finally comes back home with Mati. So late that it's a wonder the child is still awake as he rushes inside to hug his stepfather's legs.

 

“Porfos!”

 

“Hey, buddy!”

 

Porthos sweeps in up in his arms, backpack and all to give him a kiss.

 

“Mamá's sick.”

 

“Yeah, I heard.”

 

“It smells like chicken!”

 

“It does. I bought you nuggets.”

 

“Yum! Mamá, Papá, I get nuggets!”

 

Porthos frowns as he strides to the living room and the commotion there, a door closing loudly and bags dropped to the floor. But one look at Anne holding on to Aramis' shoulder with all her strength and he forgets that he should be upset that she's here and he didn't know it would happen. She looks wobbly on her legs, weak, and her face is indeed as white as Mati described. She raises sheepish eyes at him once he steps closer, the boy still in his arms.

 

“Hi,” Anne says faintly. Her smile wants to be warm, but then she coughs and she has to grab Aramis' coat for support.

 

“She's really not in a good shape,” Aramis explains after Anne is sitting in the couch, shivering and curling onto herself. He hurries to find her a blanket, throwing worried glances at his boyfriend. Porthos knows Aramis is expecting him to be mad to have made the decision without him. He might be a little annoyed but he would have certainly done the same. She's in a pitiful state.

 

“I didn't want her to stay by herself,” Aramis adds. “I had to insist.”

 

“I don't want to burden you,” comes from the depths of the warm comforter. Anne is almost lost underneath it. It's hot, though, and she hugs it close to her chest. Her head hurts, her chest hurts. She's so cold. She can hardly breathe and the room is spinning around her.

 

“Hey, Mati. Why don't you go eat your food? It's all ready in the kitchen. Bring it here if you want.”

 

Porthos puts him down, watches him dash off before returning with the plate he's holding carefully at arm's length. Aramis sits him down at the living room table before coming to Porthos to kiss him hello. They haven't seen each other since the morning and that's not the evening they had planned. Not that they had anything particular in mind after meeting their respective friends. Still.

 

“Are you okay with it?” Aramis has to ask. Porthos kisses him again.

 

“She looks truly miserable. I hope we won't all catch what she has but yeah, I don't want her to be alone tonight.”

 

“Thank you, Porthos.” Aramis' whisper brushes against the other's cheek, hot and grateful. It smells like lemon.

 

Before Porthos can assure his boyfriend that he's really fine with the woman and the child staying with them and that it's not an ordeal for him, Anne goes through another coughing fit and Mati demands ketchup. That they don't have. He gets bbq sauce instead but that's not the same.

 

Feeling safe in the knowledge that her baby is being taken care of and that she's not alone, Anne actually falls asleep quickly. Mati hasn't even finished eating that not a sound comes from the couch anymore. And none of the men have the courage to wake her up to fold out the sofa. Aramis only hopes she won't fall down during the night. Her forehead is hot when he goes to check on her right before going to bed. He puts a glass of water on the coffee table just in case and very carefully takes her shoes off for her.

 

The sight of her when he went to collect Mati was so heartbreaking that in his mind, it didn't matter that Porthos wasn't answering his phone. He had to take Anne home with him and Mati. What kind of man would leave his friend by herself in such a state. That's what friends are for.

 

“You made the right call,” Porthos comments. “Making her come here. I remember being sick and having to stay by myself. It was horrific.”

 

“You really are okay with it?”

 

“Of course I am, 'mis. She's family, isn't she? We've to help each other.”

 

Aramis looks tired as he gazes at his boyfriend with dreamy eyes. They fall on the bed in a mess, cuddling and still fully clothed, but no intention to move. Porthos groans and stretches.

 

“She won't stay long. I promise. She has a doctor appointment in the morning. But depending on what he says, Mati may have to....”

 

“Aramis? Stop talking.” Porthos follows his order by a series of kisses, effectively smothering his boyfriend with them until Aramis is giggling, clutching the other's arm, with mighty strength. Rubbing a little.

 

“She's sick, 'mis. She can stay here as long as she needs to. And so does Mati. I'm serious. I know last month I said quite the opposite but last time I was hungover and cranky and bone-tired. It's like we're extending our weekend this time around.”

 

“But this is Paris.”

 

“It is. I love you for thinking about what might make me uncomfortable. If I'm being honest,” Porthos ponders, “I'm not sure how we'll work it out tomorrow morning, the four of us here having to get ready for work and having to deal with Mati.”

 

Porthos has no idea what Anne does with her child when school is out and she has to work. They haven't had time to ask. He could always take him to the gym. Mati will probably be thrilled. He is a little apprehensive about waking up to Anne in the living room, about being as comfortable with Aramis as they usually are in their home with someone else to witness their daily interactions. She's witnessed it all before but not in their appartment. It's their space. On the other hand, Anne may not even pay attention to them. For all he knows, she may not even wake up until after they've all left. She sounded and looked awful. It wouldn't be a surprise if she did.

 

“I'm fine not taking a shower and doing breakfast,” Aramis suggests.

 

“I'll do breakfast. I can shower at the gym.”

 

“I'll take Mati to the holiday centre. That's where he goes when she can't take time off to look after him.”

 

“Good.” Excellent. Porthos is somewhat reassured. Their schedule might have been turned upside down, he needs to know where he stands. It makes him more comfortable. Everyone knows where they should be, what they should do. “Give me a time and I'll pick him up if you want.”

 

Aramis rubs his nose against Porthos' neck. He sighs happily and tightens his hold on his boyfriend's waist. Porthos does the same, bringing the other impossibly closer. Aramis hooks one leg around Porthos' left one and delightfully feels the fingers caressing his hair, finding the rubber band and freeing the dark locks.

 

“We're still going to the movies on Thursday, aren't we?” Porthos mumbles in his boyfriend's hair, the words coming down to Aramis quietly.

 

“You bet we are. And we're going for drinks afterwards.”

 

“Awesome.”

 

In the morning, they find out that Anne hasn't fallen from the couch. What she's done however is kick the duvet to the floor and take off her sweater. Aramis tuts and doesn't understand how she couldn't be cold wearing only a tank top. He gets to ask her the question directly since the men may want to be quiet, Mati can't do it. He tried hard, though. Nobody scolds him so that's a relief. Despite the fact that his mother is sick, he's excited that they are all together in the same place once again. He shows his mother what he eats here, how long he can play before they have to leave, how he puts on his coat with Porthos' help. What a great team they make, the three of them.

 

He does so in shrilling tones which don't help Anne's headache. She went to sleep with one and it hasn't subsided throughout the night. She must look disgusting, sniffing and breathing through her mouth. How can Aramis stand to kiss her forehead before leaving for the day? Porthos is much wiser, waving goodbye by the front door. So does Mati, for different reasons. Anne hopes whatever she has, the boy won't catch it.

 

She's left with instructions to take care of herself, to use the shower if she wants to, to pick any of Aramis' tee-shirts if she wants to wear something more comfortable while she stays inside. Because she won't hog their bed they show her how to fold out the couch.

 

That's where Porthos finds her hours later in the afternoon after he's done at the gym and he has collected Mati. The boy has watched a movie, played a giant game in the courtyard of the centre. He's even started to paint on rocks. Which explains the dried paint in his hair.

 

“Mamá!”

 

“Hey, sweetie. Hi, Porthos.”

 

She sounds as weak as she did in the morning. A few boxes are scattered on the table, syrups and tablets. Ineffective so far. Or so it seems. She's listened to them, though, coming back here rather than taking refuge in her own appartment. So Porthos is relieved about that. She coughs, but nonetheless welcomes her son with open arms for the hug he couldn't get upon waking up.

 

“The doctor said it's not contagious,” Anne explains, noticing the frown on Porthos' face. He's relieved and steps closer as well, surveying the meds. “I should be back on my feet in a couple of days.”

 

“Good. Until then you're staying here.”

 

“Porthos, I....”

 

“Whatever it is. I don't want to hear it.”

 

His voice is as stern as she's ever heard it and it means business. Anne has no strength to argue anyway. She clutches her dirty tissue to her mouth. She's been gaping ever since coming back from the doctor. Closing her mouth even for a couple of seconds results in her gasping and struggling for breath. It's not polite, though.

 

“I've been sick often when I lived alone and it sucks. You're lucky enough to have us close by so you're going to sit back and rest while you get better.”

 

“Okay.” She's strong enough to chuckle and Porthos smiles back. Her eyes are shining in the light. She's wearing one of Aramis' tee-shirts, oversized on her, which turns out to actually be Porthos' favorite one. An old Father Day's gift Mati -or more probably Anne- gave him years ago. Which must explain why she picked it.

 

“Don't you want something warmer? I've sweatshirts.”

 

“I don't want to impose...”

 

“You're not. I wash them, you know.”

 

She's lucky indeed, she decides, watching him striding to his bedroom quickly and coming back with the garment. It is warmer. There's only one second of hesitation before she puts it on. It's fluffy inside. The sleeves are so long her hands disappear. Mati laughs as she flails her arms a few times. It looks like she's trying to fly.

 

“You're a bird, Mamá!”

 

“A sick one, yes. Did you have a snack?”

 

“Yes! We had pancakes! Yum!”

 

Mati climbs on the couch next to her, ready to tell her everything he's done during the day. His mother has a giant blanket on her shoulders and he has half a mind to build a fort underneath it. It's fun. Perhaps _Porfos_ can help.

 

But Porthos has vanished to the kitchen, going about their routine as if there wasn't someone foreign to it in the appartment. He takes a deep breath, wonders what he should make for dinner, what she'd like to eat if her throat still hurts as much as it did last night.

 

“Do you want some tea, Anne? I've bought honey,” he calls out eventually.

 

They've had to do some emergency shopping. How strange that all these sudden changes don't trouble him today. They should. He used to want to stick to their routine. It's exciting to realize that it's fine now. Better. Perhaps because he's seen first hand how well they made it work during the weekend. Barely any awkwardness and he's happy to spend some time with Anne, even without Aramis around.

 

It's Anne and he likes Anne. Let's hope after such a long time spent together in the same place, he'll still have the same opinion about her.

 

“Are you making some for yourself?”

 

“I'm not a big fan of tea.”

 

“You bought it for me?” Her question ends with a strangled sound when she seems to lose it. Mati giggles.

 

“Well, you're sick. Honey is good for sore throats. Do you want some or not?”

 

At her lack of answer, Porthos pops his head in the living room to find her staring straight at him, bewildered. He cocks his head and she nods eargerly.

 

“All right, then.” Porthos keeps on laughing during his tea preparation. Anne gives him a hug after he's put the steaming mug in her hands. Mati is wrecking havoc on the other side of the sofa.

 

Porthos is so lovely, Anne can hardly believe it. So genuinely happy to sit with her and talk or just watch TV after a while because she's sniffing so often that any conversation becomes impossible. And she grows emotional once Mati has given up on destroying the bed she'd spent a long time making to settle on Porthos' lap in his armchair.

 

She's no idea whether it's the meds or the sight which make her eyes water. But it's beautiful and she envies Aramis for being able to witness it more often than she does. It's her first time and her son seems so cozy in these big arms, safe and calm. At ease.

 

And then she sneezes. Loudly. Enough to make Porthos start. Mati is gaping at her. There's tea dripping on her clothes. Porthos' clothes.

 

“Mamá!”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Your nose's all red,” Mati giggles.

 

“Yes, I guess. Very attractive. Ugh. I....”

 

Her eyes widens. She forgets to blow her nose, rummaging in her bag. She's such an idiot. God. Stupid.

 

“What is it?” Porthos watches her scramble for her phone, groaning at the time displayed on the screen. He's mildly worried.

 

“I had a date tonight,” she mumbles. Coughs.

 

_Oh._

 

“Hey, careful!” he shouts out. Anne's stood up to have some privacy as she makes her phonecall. But she's wobbly on her legs and almost collapses in her hurry. Porthos catches her arm, probably clutches too hard. At least she's not face first on the floor.

 

“What's a date, Porfos?”

 

“It's....hmm...it's when you go have fun with a friend.” It's vague enough and certainly not a lie. Not too much of one anyway. It's enough.

 

“Okay. I've dates all the time!”

 

“Sure you do.” Porthos smiles. “Papá and I do, too.”

 

“Papá's not your friend, Porfos! You love him!”

 

“Friends can love one another.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Mati turns back to the movie on TV, buries under Porthos' arm after he's ruffled the boy's hair.

 

Anne has to hold on to the table and the chairs and any piece of furniture she encounters on her way back to her safe seat on the couch. This medicine she was given appears to be rather strong. Or it might just be the combination of them all. Either way, she's glad when her feet don't touch the floor anymore.

 

“All good?”

 

“Yeah. He sounded disappointed but what can I do about that?” She rubs her forehead, finds her hair dirty and should maybe take a shower. She doesn't trust herself enough and there is no way _in hell_ , she'll request assistance to bathe. Quickest way to make Porthos run away. She blushes at the thought alone.

 

“You first, Anne. There's no point wanting to go if you can't enjoy yourself, right?” She nods weakly. “Besides, you look as if you could pass out at any moment. You're not leaving this couch unless we help you.”

 

“Porthos is kind of bossy, isn't he?”

 

“Porfos is nice! He said we're eating pizza tonight!”

 

“Aramis will buy you soup,” Porthos reassures her. It indeed sounds more appealing.

 

She's drowsing when Aramis eventually joins them, warm pizza boxes piled on his arm. Mati is wearing his pjs and Porthos is setting plates on the coffee table. With their guest here, most of the house rules are being bent. Much to the child's joy. Carpet picnics are the best sorts of dinner.

 

Anne can hear their conversation, talking about how their day went, if anything out of the ordinary happened. Talking about Mati, talking about her. Certainly asking her questions and yet she has difficulties focusing on the discussion. Her mind is clouded by her earlier one. She's aware she remembered to cancel the date a tad too late and they had big plans to go to the theatre. He can still enjoy the play by himself, can't he? It's not as if she stood him up for no reason. She'll call him again in the morning. For the time being, her headache is worsening.

 

The soup is hearty and she likes pumpkin so she devours it. She can't remember eating since lunch. She can't even recall what she ate back then. Her chest clenches with each swallow, though and Mati's voice is drilling in her forehead. Invasive. It's not long before she withdraws under her blanket, hardly caring if it's impolite to ignore the others.

 

Aramis throws her a compassionate glance that she cannot see but that Porthos shares.

 

“Hey, buddy. Why don't we go eat dessert in the kitchen, eh? Mamá needs to rest. She's very sick.”

 

There's tomato sauce all around his mouth as Mati seems to realize that his mother has indeed disappeared. She's hidden so deeply under the duvet that it barely moves when she breathes. It must be suffocating under it. The only signs that she's awake are the sneezes and the coughing.

 

Mati nonetheless dutifully follows, his unfinished slice of pizza in hand, talking as enthusiastically as he did in the living room. Aramis lowers his voice on purpose, so does Porthos and eventually, the boy stops shouting until his volume comes back to normal. Porthos found out months ago that he loved the silence. He had never realized it before having to live with Mati. The quiet is his happy place now.

 

They retreat to Mati's bedroom after he's brushed his teeth to play for a while until it's time for bed. Which leads to them carefully padding to the couch in case Anne is still awake and can give her son a goodnight kiss. Mati wants three tonight. One from each of the adults. He should always get these many kisses or hugs every day. It's the best school break ever. All of them together. Regardless of his mother's health. She's there, that's what matters.

 

“Anne? Hey, Anne.” Aramis hesitates before gently shaking what he supposes must be her shoulder.

 

She grumbles from her cozy place where she's curled in a ball, arms around her waist. Her hair is on her face and the light too bright once Aramis pushes the blanket away from her eyes. He's radiant in the yellow glow. And his eyes are kind. She likes them. She'd make to touch them but it's too much of a stretch. Her fingers feel heavy. She likes how Aramis seems to float in the air. It's a pretty move. Except when it makes her dizzy. Her head would fall back on the couch if this wasn't where it was already.

 

“We're going to bed. We wanted to say good night.”

 

“'Night,” Anne slurs, giving Mati a sloppy kiss. She misses his cheek by a good couple of inches. It lands half on his nose and half on his eye. It must be funny given how loudly Mati squeals.

 

“Have you taken your meds?” Aramis' voice reach her from far away, muffled and soft. She must have. She wouldn't be feeling so weird if she hadn't. Or it might be a side effect of the sickness and not the medicine. Who knows? Either way, she feels like she'll fall if she doesn't hold on to the sheets. But she can't tell him that. She has no words. She nods again instead. “Good. I've left you water if you're thirsty. Try to sleep, okay?”

 

His lips are warm on her hot forehead, soon replaced by the cool towel he gives her. He's so nice. They're all so nice. They're the best.

 

“I don't know what the doctor gave her but she's completely out of it,” Aramis tells Porthos who is already in bed, enjoying the show of his boyfriend taking his clothes off. “She wanted to touch my eyes. Poke me more like.”

 

“Well, they're pretty eyes, 'mis.”

 

“It would have hurt. I hope she won't be like that tomorrow night or we'll have to call Constance to ask if she can come keep an eye on both of them.”

 

“Great idea. Anne will be enchanted to have a babysitter.”

 

“If her meds have the same effect as tonight, she'll find everything exceptional. She said I was beautiful because it looked like I was floating.”

 

Porthos laughs out loud, welcomes Aramis' warm body by his side. It's already hot under the sheets and Aramis loves it. He loves how sliding his arm across his boyfriend's stomach always triggers a small ticklish shiver. Porthos cannot help it, even after months and months of sharing the same bed.

 

“As long as she doesn't float out of the appartment, I'm fine.”

 

“Thank you, Porthos. For taking care of her today.”

 

Aramis sighs at the lips brushing the top of his head and the fingers splayed on his bare back, clutching his hip. He'll never stop being grateful of Porthos' selfless involvement. He's aware he shouldn't be amazed by it, that Porthos does it willingly, but they've come a long way and most of the time when their life is disturbed it's because of Aramis' connections.

 

Porthos won't listen to any of it again, since he really is good with everything. He's spent a good day and it's simply added more adventure to their evening. Besides, Mati is a riot to have around. Porthos is as elated as his boyfriend whenever they get to have him around. What's a few more days? So long as they get to have time to themselves, he's fine.

 

Aramis drifts to sleep content with this knowledge, reassured and comfortable in Porthos' strong arms for a few minutes. Until Porthos shrugs him off after he's fallen asleep as well. It's not what wakes Aramis up, given that it happens almost every night.

 

Instead, there's a thud in the living room in the dead of the night, one that Aramis clearly has to investigate. What if Mati has decided to join his mother?

 

But his bedroom door is still closed. The couch however looks empty. There are grunts coming from the floor, though, where Aramis pads, rubbing his eyes and trying to be as awake as he can. Anne is so tangled in her comforter that he has to kneel by her side to help her out.

 

“What are you doing, Anne?”

 

She's swinging her arms, fighting with the sheets and the sleeves of Porthos' sweatshirt that she's trying to take off. She only stops at the firm hands on her arms, pulling her close.

 

“ _I was dreaming I was....calling because I forgot our date. I have to call.”_

 

“ _Yeah, I know. Porthos told me. But it's the middle of the night. He must be sleeping.”_

 

“ _But I have to apologize,”_ Anne whines, clutching Aramis' bare arm. He smoothes the damp hair falling on her eyes.

 

“ _You'll call in the morning. You're going to wake everyone.”_

 

“ _I'm tired,”_ she slurs.

 

“ _Go back to bed.”_

 

“ _I'm hot.”_

 

“ _Shall I help you take this off?”_ Aramis tugs on the sweatshirt and she looks down at his hand, considering it. Then up at his face that she can barely see in the soft light.

 

“ _I can do it by myself.”_ And she's quite fierceful attempting to do it. So much that Aramis has to rock back on his heels to avoid being smacked in the face.

 

“ _Anne, careful. Let me do it.”_

 

She giggles then, studying his face, his tired eyes and how impatient he is to get back to his own bed.

 

“ _You're pretty,”_ she decides. _“Very, very pretty.”_

 

“ _Thank you.”_

 

“ _I mean it. I love....these.”_ She pokes him in the eye, trying to touch the crinkles around it. Aramis curses under his breath. Whatever medication she's on, it's stronger than he imagined. She's never acted like this.

 

“ _I love you, Aramis. I do. I do.”_

 

“ _Yes. I do, too.”_

 

“ _But don't tell Porthos, sssshhhh. I like him, too, by the way. You know?”_

 

“ _Yes. Stop moving so I can....Raise your arms.”_

 

“ _Oooooh.”_ She begins to giggle, finding it extremely funny to have her head stuck in the collar of the garment. Aramis puts his hand on her mouth once she's free and her giggles are turning into full on laughter.

 

“ _Anne, hush.”_

 

“ _Oh. You're scolding me. Bad, bad. Sorry,”_ she mumbles against the palm of his hand. Aramis makes a face, wipes it on the comforter and almost falls once she collapses against his chest, groping all the bare skin there.

 

“ _You're hot. Very hot.”_

 

As he stares at her with wonder, Aramis indeed realizes that she looks like she's drunk. She's embarassing herself but at least she's not alone to deal with her illness. Perhaps she won't even remember anything that she's said to him.

 

“ _And you'll be cold if you don't go back to bed. Come on.”_

 

Clutching his shoulders, Anne comes willingly, letting him lie her down on the couch. Except she doesn't want to let go. He's soft and he's close and she likes him. He's the best. He's taking such excellent care of her. It'd be a shame to let him go. He lessens the headache burning behind her forehead. She feels on fire and her head is spinning, even as she rests it on a fluffy cushion.

 

Aramis barely stops himself from losing his balance. He swears again, feeling the faint pain in his ankle resurfacing because of the awkward position he is in. Anne won't relinquish her hold on his arm.

 

“ _Stay here.”_

 

“ _You'll be fine by yourself.”_

 

“ _But I need you.”_

 

“ _Porthos does, too.”_

 

“ _Ooooh. Porthos, yes.”_ She yawns. _“Don't tell him I like him. It's a secret. Sssshhh.”_ She yawns in his face again.

 

“ _I'm fairly sure he already knows that, Anne.”_

 

She has strength to frown, looking up at him with big wide eyes. She's a mess.

 

“What do I know?”

 

Porthos stumbles in the living room, curious as to why he's been awoken so early. He drags his bare feet, his mind too cloudy to register the position Aramis is, half sitting on the couch and Anne draped all over him.

 

“Porthos!” she exclaims.

 

“Hush!”

 

“Oooops, sorry. Aramis thinks I'm a bad girl,” she whispers, still outrageously loud. Porthos cocks his head at his boyfriend who is prying her fingers away. Before Anne has time to understand what's happened, he's gone, standing up and rounding the couch.

 

“She's as high as I've ever seen her. Sorry.” He tiptoes to give Porthos a kiss on the cheek. He feels the yawn underneath his lips. Porthos scratches his beard. Anne cooes behind them.

 

“You're adorable. I love you both together. You're _so_ cute.”

 

“I see what you mean. Will she be all right by herself?”

 

“Yes. She'll most likely go back to sleep once we're gone.”

 

“But you have to stay. We should play.....a game.”

 

“We're not playing any games. It's midnight, Anne.”

 

She scowls at Aramis' reproach, squinting to focus on their waving form in the dark. It makes her dizzy. She's tired. But she doesn't want to lie down. Her head hurts when she does so. It also does when she's sitting. She huffs. Her throat hurts.

 

“Or I can come with you. We'll have a....a sleepover.”

 

In the afterglow of her fantastic discovery, she trips once more on the comforter, almost falling head first on the wooden floor. It's Porthos' turn to curse as his brain finally comprehends the entire situation. He pushes her back on the couch.

 

“Lie down,” he urges her. She's too busy touching his face. Her fingers drifting on the rough skin. He shuts his eyes to avoid any further injuries and pushes her again, trapping her hand in his strong fist so she can't move it anymore.

 

“You're nice, Porthos.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

She does as he tells him then, gripping the comforter with both hands once it's up to her chin. She wiggles her feet underneath it, yawns. Porthos gets a good view of her teeth.

 

“Very very nice. Stay with me.”

 

“I've a bed of my own, thank you.”

 

She'd like to chase after his sweet hand after he's somewhat tucked her in, but her strength is diminishing. It's so cozy where she is. They should all benefit from it. She has no time to turn around to make room for them that Aramis is once again next to her.

 

“Anne, you stay here. You have all the room that you want and no one to bother you.”

 

“But I'm sure we....”

 

“Anne, I swear to God that if you try to leave this couch one more time, be it to make a phone call or to come after us, I'll chain you to it.”

 

His threat has no effect whatsoever. Anne's eyes sparkle with vague interest.

 

“Ooooooh. I just _knew_ you liked that!”

 

“What?”

 

“Do you have handcuffs?”

 

Porthos fails to keep a straight face on. He can't be mad at her for ruining their night. Not when she is that funny.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Aramis breathes out. “Yes, we do and I won't have any remorse using them on you. Go to sleep, Anne.”

 

She surprisingly complies, settling down, satisfied of whatever new information she's learned about them.

 

“Being a good liar comes in handy sometimes,” Porthos says while they hurry to their bedroom.

 

“Ssshhh. Do you want her to know we don't have any?”

 

“Perhaps we should.”

 

Porthos slaps Aramis' ass, chuckles at the little jump his boyfriend makes in response to the touch. Does it again only because Aramis likes it.

 

In spite of how tired he is, Aramis pulls Porthos on top of him when they're safely away from Anne in their bed and they've locked the door. Just in case.

 

“Geez. I'm thankful we've had Mati to practice not standing up to whims. I knew your child was good for something.”

 

Aramis lazily tickles him for revenge, enjoying Porthos squirming, flushed on him. What even are these discussions they're having in the dead of the night?

 

Porthos tries to catch his breath, struggling to stop the wandering fingers. Aramis lets him. He's exhausted enough as it is. Porthos kisses his smiling lips, nuzzles his cheek. Doesn't move. He's certain he must be crushing his boyfriend since he isn't holding his weight back. Instead, Porthos is utterly and completely lying on Aramis. Who hums.

 

“Would you like to?”

 

“What?”

 

“Buy...stuff.”

 

“What....Oh. I don't know. Maybe? But I actually don't need handcuffs to keep you from moving, do I?”

 

In saying so, Porthos presses down to push himself up, hears Aramis' gasp and holds his hands firmly above his boyfriend's head. Aramis can fight all he wants, there's no escaping the grip on him. He _likes_ it. Until Porthos yawns in their kiss and they have to concede that sleep is the better option for the night.

 


	14. March (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "italics" = Spanish

It's steamy in the locker room, too many showers being used at once and everyone so exhausted from their hour of work-out that when Anne steps out in the hallway, she feels like the temperature has dropped dramatically. She hopes her make-up is still neat and that her hair has dried enough. Not that it will matter given the tight ponytail she's put it in. Walking with heels after so many exercices, stretching and jumping is an ordeal. It takes her longer than usual to reach the front desk, enough for Porthos to notice her there.

 

“You look like you've been tortured,” he jokes after she's hugged him. She doesn't smell like she's just sweated a great deal. Her perfume is much nicer. She does look flushed and out of breath.

 

“That's what I pay for, don't I?” She groans, balancing her bag on her other shoulder.

 

The place is crowded for a Wednesday afternoon, such loud music and the noise of many equipments being used at the same time, of weights being dropped to the floor. Anne likes all the raucous and the people milling about. It's like a little community of its own and Porthos takes excellent care of it. She's tired and yet she can't help but respond to his bright smile.

 

“Have you seen Mati?” he asks suddenly, wiping his head towards his shiny brand new daycare room that he's so proud of.

 

Anne startles at the mention of her son, looking in the same direction as Porthos. It's extraordinary how one single word can make her face brighten that much, Porthos marvels. Her smile grows bigger.

 

“Mati's here?”

 

“Yep.”

 

Porthos grins at her, amused to see how delighted she seems as she follows him to the colorful room full of toys and sofas which look incredibly fluffy. No wonder Mati prefers to stay here to draw or watch movies or play in the ball pool. Porthos clearly went out of his way to make sure that all of her son's favorite games and activities could fit in. He's so thoughtful.

 

She has no time to tell him so, though, because Mati has realized that he's being watched and he scrambles to his feet to dash towards his mother. He's heavy in her arms, squealing and letting her kiss him. It's only been three days since she's said goodbye, but it always feels like an eternity.

 

“Are you having fun?”

 

“Yes!” Mati nods eagerly, fast enough to get dizzy, squirming in Anne's embrace until she has to put him back down. Her arms hurt from the work-out she's done and the child is getting bigger. She can't believe he'll be six in a couple of months.

 

“I built a giant tower with cubes. High like that!” Mati bounces, his hand in the air to show them. There are food stains on his shirt. Porthos gives her a sheepish look when he sees that she's noticed them.

 

“We've had a little incident over lunch, didn't we?”

 

“The meat _ex_ -caped! Woooosh! On me!”

 

“Did it now? Or you didn't want to eat it?” Anne raises an eyebrow. Mati shakes his head forcefully.

 

“It was yummy! I ate it after. Because Porfos said it _not touch_ the floor.”

 

“Well, you seem to have very entertaining lunch times together.”

 

Somehow, Porthos is relieved she isn't upset at how he behaves with her child when she isn't around. He can handle Mati by himself, has proved it time and time again, but she's nonetheless his mother so he values her opinion far more than any other.

 

“Shouldn't you be with Papá on Wednesday? Is something wrong?” Anne remembers what has been feeling odd for a few minutes. She thought Aramis had managed to have these afternoons off, just like she did when Mati stayed with her.

 

“Papá is gone.”

 

“He's away for a few days. He has to attend a festival of some sort. Do some interviews for work. He's not gone forever, he is?” Porthos is quick to explain. He looks down at Mati holding his mother's hand and shaking his head again. “He'll be back on Friday but until then, Mati gets to play here.”

 

“Oh, so it's only the two of you?”

 

“Yeah. But we're fine, aren't we?”

 

So far they've been but it's only been a couple of hours. Besides, Mati is used to staying at the gym, be it to trail after his stepfather or to play with other children. Even on his own sometimes. They've had to eat dinner by themselves in the past, Porthos has had to put Mati to sleep without Aramis a handful of nights. Yet, it's nothing compared to having to handle the child on his own for two days.

 

He's fairly sure he's capable of it. He's been doing an excellent job. They are all adamant in telling him so. Porthos knows it as well. He also knows there'll be twists and things which will go wrong before Aramis comes back. Hopefully he won't make a mess. Anything so that his boyfriend finds his child in the same shape he's left him in the morning.

 

Truth be told, Porthos is damn proud Aramis has entrusted Mati to him without even overthinking it. Work cannot be overlooked and he was actually pretty excited to go. But he could have decided that he wanted Mati to stay with his mother, where he might be safer. He'll be perfectly safe with Porthos, too.

 

No, Aramis wasn't apprenhensive about that. The prospect of not seeing Porthos for three days bothered him more. They only stopped kissing after Mati had started to make some disgusted noises behind them and Aramis had to smother him with kisses as well. Until the child was wiggling to get out of his arms, giggling to no end.

 

“We're making grilled cheese sandwiches tonight!” Mati squeals. Which is a very safe bet which received Mati's approval immediately. Porthos is resolute to avoid any uneccessary drama.

 

“Nice. With extra ham?”

 

“Yes!” Mati exclaims, punching the air with his little fist. Anne can't help but laugh at how adorable he is.

 

“You're very lucky then, sweetie.”

 

“You could...you could join us if you want,” Porthos suggests, his voice quieter than usual.

 

Would it be all right? Would Aramis agree? He's always saying that he wants them to be friends. But eating dinner with the mother of his child and his child while he isn't present: would it be weird? All he knows is that Mati would certainy love it, given all the jumping and clapping he does upon hearing the idea. Porthos wonders if he was ever aware of how careful the adults were in sticking to their schedule and weekly routine. They've been throwing it out of the window since the New Year but they've heard no complaint. Mati is happy to sleep wherever he has to and if he has more than one adult around him, then it's all for the best.

 

“I mean if you don't have any other plans,” Porthos adds. He might be wearing only a loose tank top, he feels warm under her scrutiny. He shouldn't, though. She's not annoyed by the offer, merely surprised that he'd make it.

 

“I'd love to but I actually have some tonight. Plans, that is.” In saying so, she shifts on her feet. The shoes aren't practical and it may have been a mistake to come to the gym before her date. She groans in mild pain.

 

Porthos doesn't quite know how to feel about that. He is happy that she is finally having some sort of a social life instead of staying in her appartment like a recluse when her son isn't with her. This, he is fine with. Her, having fun, going out, it makes him relieved. Aramis has stayed in Paris for him and she's moved here so that Mati would be closer to his father. It amazes Porthos how all of these people have somewhat arranged their lives around him. It's happened so rarely in the past. He couldn't be more grateful.

 

So he isn't upset that she will spend a fine evening with her....boyfriend? Is he her boyfriend? He can't even remember the name of the guy or if Anne has ever told them. And what they were to one another. He's also impressed Aramis hasn't inquired further about it. His boyfriend can be so nosy when it comes to Anne.

 

Porthos feels disappointed for a second after she's rejected his suggestion. It's unsettling since it wasn't even part of their plan for the evening until a minute ago. They were going to make sandwiches and eat them and then play for a while before going to bed. Now, having company to do all of this had sounded far more appealing to him. Especially if it was with Anne.

 

He has no time to ponder what's going on in his head that Mati is whining that his mother should come with them at home anyway. What better way could there be than spending an evening with him and _Porfos_? Surely, nothing can top this.

 

“You're always having such great fun with Porthos. And besides, it's not even my week with you.”

 

“Does it really matter anymore?” Porthos mumbles, asking an actual question. Anne's honest and kind smile comforts him in the knowledge that she feels the same about this aspect of their life. She's blessed that Porthos has adapted so well and that he's growing comfortable in their new life. He's such a caring and exceptional person.

 

“I want you, too, Mamá!”

 

“Oh, sweetie. I'm seeing a friend tonight and it doesn't do to cancel on such short notice.”

 

“But, Mamá!”

 

“I can't, Mati. I'm not changing my mind.”

 

The boy sulks, crosses his small arms on his chest. Anne would have loved nothing more than to join them for dinner. But she's already canceled so many dates because she was sick the previous month or because something came up with her son. That she has yet to mention. It makes her nervous. She doesn't need to add the guilt of letting Mati down to the list of her problems.

 

“Are you doing anything tomorrow night?” Porthos dares ask. Mati is showing signs of throwing a tantrum and it would not be appreciated. There's no hesitation this time. Then Mati looks up at his mother with big hopeful eyes, tugging on her hand and making almost pleading whines. Anne throws her head back chuckling.

 

“I'm free tomorrow.”

 

“Why don't you come by around 7 and we'll have...what should we make for your mother tomorrow, Mati?”

 

“Pizza!”

 

“We cannot eat pizza every week.”

 

“But, Porfos...”

 

“No pizza.”

 

Mati huffs. Anne laughs some more and ruffles the blond curls on her son's head. They're cute together.

 

“Why don't you think about it and surprise me?”

 

“I like pizza....”

 

“I know. Me too. But Porthos is right.” He stands taller, beaming at her, looking stern once Mati turns his head toward him.

 

“Thank you, Porthos. I mean, if it's not too much trouble.”

 

“Of course not! That'll be fun, too, won't it? To have your mother over?”

 

Mati nods enthusiastically, his smile so large it illuminates his entire face. If he admits it, Porthos may be as glad as the boy is. It's not the same as having his boyfriend at home, it could never be and yet it'll be less lonely. Anne is elated to be given so many unexpected opportunities to spend time with her baby. So genuinely pleased that Porthos would include her easily without Aramis around.

 

“And this time you won't even be sick!” Porthos jokes. Mati giggles. Anne bows her head, blushing. She remembers most of what she told them when she was on her medication. It's a bit embarassing, even though the men found it hilarious.

 

But at least they've averted drama, Anne decides. Mati is so excited that he's forgotten that he wanted her with them this very night. And Porthos is only teasing her. It has all become so natural and she can finally see what Aramis' parents meant at Christmas when they said the four of them made a great family. They do. How miserable it would have been if Anne hadn't hit it off with Aramis' boyfriend. She's ever so thankful that they are becoming excellent friends. It's almost more comforting than knowing that Mati is in awe with his stepfather.

 

He all but jumps in Porthos' arms when he's prompted to do so. It's as if he weighs nothing, his legs wrapped around Porthos' waist, his arms clutching his neck strongly. It's a stretch so he can kiss his mother goodbye for the day. Mati waves a great deal while she makes her way out of the gym. She must like this man a lot, Porthos thinks, to have the will to walk with such heels after a full hour of work-out.

 

For the little time they have to stay at the gym and then while they make the food, all that Mati can talk about is his mother and what games they'll have to play the following night. His ramblings don't stop him from doing an outstanding job, sitting on his chair next to Porthos in the kitchen. He's careful putting the ham on the slices of bread or spreading grated cheese on top of them. It's something they do quite often, preparing dinner together before Aramis comes back home.

 

The appartment is definitely missing his presence tonight even though the food was tasty and they didn't burn a lot of the bread. Porthos has no problem talking with Mati, or rather listening, but he misses his boyfriend's interventions or how they get to huddle with the boy to read his bedtime story. Whenever he had to do it by himself in the past, Porthos was aware Aramis would be back shortly afterwards. That _he_ wouldn't have to sleep alone. That Mati would see his father in the morning. Porthos is hoping he won't wake up in tears because of this absence.

 

“Papá?” Mati asks sleepily after they've finished the story, Porthos' throat is sore after he's tucked the boy in. Porthos puts the teddy bear right under Mati's small arm.

 

“He's still gone. He'll be back on Friday.”

 

“Tomorrow?”

 

“No. Today is Wednesday. And tomorrow is....”

 

“......Thursday?”

 

“Yep. Good job. And after Thursday....”

 

“....Friday?”

 

“Exactly. So we'll see Papá in.....how many days?”

 

“.....two days?”

 

“You're the best. Good night now.”

 

“I need two kisses. One for you, and one for Papá.”

 

Porthos stops himself short from laughing out loud. He smiles instead, smoothes Mati's hair and leans down to kiss him again.

 

“And for Papá,” Mati repeats.

 

Porthos kisses his forehead with smiling lips.

 

It's easier for the child to sleep on his own now, after months spent living with them. He hasn't trailed after them, or left his room only minutes after being put to bed in ages. But Porthos would have probably welcomed the distraction today. Watching TV is boring, nothing on and there's no one to talk to. Even when he is in bed, something is desperately off. The bed is too large and too cold. He has too much room, nothing and no one to snuggle with. It's eerily quiet.

 

_Are you awake?_

 

He can't resist sending the text. It's not too late. Aramis is with his colleagues, they must go out at night. Who could blame him for enjoying his childfree days? Porthos cannot fall asleep, though and he knows what he needs. It's also been a long time since he's realized that Aramis had become such an important feature in his life that whenever he isn't around for a long stretch of time, Porthos begins to feel odd. He needs Aramis for everything, for sleeping or for laughing. Even for arguing. He loves him for all of it.

 

Much to his satisfaction, it's not a text which makes his phone chirp. Porthos stretches in bed, gets comfortable and Aramis can hear the happiness and the smile in his voice, only with a simple greeting.

 

“Hey.”

 

“I'm not bothering you, am I?”

 

“Of course not, Porthos. You'd never. Is everything okay?”

 

“Yes. He's in bed and we didn't burn the building down.”

 

Aramis' short chuckle is what Porthos' heart needs to settle. He hears more, a bed creaking and cloth ruffling.

 

“Did he make a fuss to go to bed?”

 

“He's been very well-behaved.”

 

“Good. So no problem?”

 

“Nope. I wasn't calling about problems. I'm upset,” he confesses plainly.

 

“About?”

 

“That bed is too big without you in it.” Porthos gives a long sigh in the phone, reaches out and holds Aramis' pillow to his chest. For a while, nothing comes from the other end of the line. But the pillow smells like Aramis and that's enough.

 

“My bed's quite large, too,” Aramis eventually replies. “And we're not sharing rooms. I'm by myself and it's too quiet.”

 

“I miss you snoring.”

 

Aramis does laugh out loud. Porthos cradles the phone to his ear.

 

“I think I'm actually going to have to put my pj top on or I'll be cold tonight without you. Although that comforter is pretty fluffy.” Aramis hears Porthos growl so low that he would have probably missed it if he hadn't put the phone on speaker. “They had your favorite beer at the bar,” he adds. “I drank two.”

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you, too. I can't wait for Friday. I'm so used to falling asleep by your side I....have we ever slept in different rooms since moving in together?”

 

Porthos takes a moment to think about it.

 

“Yes. Last year when you went to Madrid for Mati's birthday.”

 

They've grown closer since, impossibly so, without it ever being suffocating for one or the other. There are so many little things that they don't like about the other, which make living in the same place quite a challenge sometimes. And yet they wouldn't trade any of it. Porthos still trails after Aramis so he'll put his stuff away when he's done with them. No wonder Mati leaves toys everywhere. Aramis is always annoyed when Porthos doesn't fold his clothes or leaves them on the floor. Aramis wants their towels to be put neatly on the rack or they'll never dry properly. Porthos doesn't like the curtains to be closed. There should always be as much light as possible inside the appartment. Aramis loathes cleaning the windows since his son loves standing close to them, hands, face and sometimes tongue touching the glass. A nightmare when you have to clean them every few days.

 

“Did you miss me back then, too?” Aramis asks.

 

“I always miss you, 'mis. Do you mean you're not missing me right now?”

 

“I am. I missed you last year, too. But it was different because I had Anne and Mati but....you had no one, Porthos. I never realized that. Sorry.”

 

Aramis shifts on the bed, ashamed he'd never thought about it, all absorbed that they were in finding new places to live in back then. Porthos is quick to counter the worried edge of Aramis' voice.

 

“Hey, it's been almost a year, I've survived. Don't worry about it. It's just that now....I love having you and Mati at night. And tonight was just us and....that's a little bit weird. Not that I don't like spending time with Mati but...

 

“I know what you mean. I love you, Porthos. I wish I could fall asleep in your arms.” Aramis doesn't care if it sounds sappy. His boyfriend is aware of how deeply in love he is with him. Aramis kicks off his shoes and grabs a pillow to clutch to his chest, the other one soft and cool under his cheek.

 

“I'm having a pillow to replace you,” Porthos quietly tells him.

 

“Cheap replacement.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I have one, too.”

 

“Oh, you're one to talk then!”

 

Porthos' laughter is a nice sound to hear. Aramis closes his eyes and simply listens to it until Porthos falls silent.

 

“Are we cheesy, 'mis?”

 

“You know we are.”

 

“I wonder when we became like this?”

 

“Was there ever a moment when we weren't?”

 

“I've never been like this before you.”

 

“And are you complaining, sweetie?”

 

Porthos laughs again. These cute names were those he used to hate because they reminded him of how parents talk to their children. He never wanted anyone to use them for him. Even though Aramis hardly ever calls him that, Porthos feels a faint stirring in his guts whenever he does. The feeling that he's home, that he belongs somewhere people cherish and value him. People who wouldn't let him down and who have his best interest at heart.

 

Porthos likes the cute name when Aramis uses it. Regardless of how corny it is. Who would have thought it?

 

“How could I?”

 

Then surprisingly, he yawns, loudly, and Aramis can't mistake the sound. Perhaps talking was all that Porthos needed to feel better. Aramis has more experience coping with being away from people he loves with all his heart. He knows he'll go to sleep more easily than his boyfriend.

 

“We should hang up.”

 

“Nah,” Porthos says. It's almost a shriek. Aramis has to laugh.

 

“All right, all right. No hanging up. What do you want to talk about? How was your day?”

 

“Same old. Some guy ripped his shirt lifting weight.”

 

“Wow. Was he good-looking?”

 

“He's a customer, Aramis.”

 

“So what?”

 

Porthos snorts. Aramis.....giggles?

 

“I didn't look. But some ladies seemed impressed. By the move at least. Oh, and Anne was there, too.”

 

“Being impressed by that man? Doesn't she have someone else?”

 

“Yeah. She had a date tonight, as a matter of fact.”

 

Aramis hums his answer, not voicing how troubling it is for him to know she's going out with someone that he doesn't know. Another man who may become more important in her life. He doesn't like this prospect one bit.

 

“Good for her,” he says instead. Porthos isn't convinced but it's not their place to discuss her social life.

 

“Oh and I might....Mati....we might have invited her tomorrow night. I mean, we did. We invited her tomorrow night. For dinner.”

 

“Just her?”

 

“Of course just her. I don't think he even knows that Mati exists.”

 

They can't judge her on that either. Besides, Anne already knows their opinion.

 

“Is it okay with you, Aramis?”

 

“What is?”

 

“Her coming over.”

 

“Mati must be over the moon.”

 

“Yes, he is.”

 

“As long as the both of you don't set fire to the kitchen. I wish I could be there with you. To prevent a disaster but also....”

 

“Hey, we did good tonight!” Porthos tries to sound offended but he's too tired to do so.

 

“I know you did. I'm proud of you both. I wish I could spend tomorrow evening with you all, that's all.”

 

“Me too.”

 

Having the conversation on the phone isn't the best for Porthos to decide whether Aramis is bothered by the situation or not. He doesn't sound like it. Disappointed for sure, but not angry that he won't be around to monitor everything. Besides, he trusts them both, Porthos has absolutley no doubt about that. But Aramis and Anne have this very special relationship that Porthos tries to never upset.

 

“You'll have to drink a glass of wine for me.”

 

“Drink one, too and you'll be there at least in spirit.”

 

“And you know I never say no to wine, Porthos.”

 

“Oh, I do.”

 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

 

“Nothing. That I love you and that I like it even more when you loosen up.”

 

“Don't I always?”

 

“You're a riot to be around, that's for sure.”

 

Aramis makes a pleased sound in the phone, tells Porthos he's a joy to be around, too. As if they didn't already know these truths. Saying them out loud warms Porthos' heart. He likes it when they can be silly and carefree. He likes it even more when they can do it while being in the same room. But he has to make do tonight. He stifles another yawn, listens to Aramis tell him what the hotel looks like, what he will do in the morning. The restaurant where they will have their party the next evening.

 

The last thing Porthos remembers talking about is the kind of book Aramis should bring him back. He slightly remembers saying he'd be fine with anything including pirates or adventures at sea, but that more importantly, he wanted it to be a surprise.

 

Thank God they also use an alarm clock to wake up in the morning. Because when Porthos does so on Thursday morning, his phone is dead by his side in the bed. At least he slept well. And he has a good day to look forward to.

 

Mati sulks at breakfast just like his stepfather predicted. He wants his father, which is a miracle not even the mighty Porthos can accomplish. Then he gets to eat Nutella on toasted bread, which usually only happens during weekends, so it's a light comfort.

 

Porthos is in a bit of a rush throughout the entire day, which isn't a novelty. Ever since taking in Mati and even before when he moved in with Aramis, there has hardly been a week when he could respect his work schedule to perfection. So long as he makes it in time to teach his classes, he won't worry about it. Today he has to take Mati to school, which puts him out of his way, and then in the afternoon he has to go shopping before collecting him there again. He's not mentally strong enough to do grocery shopping with the child. Especially if Mati's hungry.

 

Until today he'd never actually realized how much work it was to handle a child on his own. He feels like the day has passed too fast and he's exhausted even though it's not even close to being over yet. How does Anne do it? How has she done it for years when they still lived in Spain and she had Mati for months? Not weeks or days. Months. Porthos feels dizzy simply thinking about it. He couldn't do it.

 

Anne is thus content with the compliments he pays her when she arrives for dinner. One of the perks of moving to Paris is that she isn't as bone-tired as she always was in Madrid. There are even days when she gets to wake up on her own and not because her son demands her immediate attention for matters ranking to the TV remote won't work to the pencils needing to be sharpened.

 

“We're making chicken with crumbs!” Mati greets her, excited and hugging her with sticky and dirty hands. Anne refrains from making a face. If only all her work days could end like this, it'd be magical.

 

“Breaded, he means,” Porthos explains.

 

“Excellent. I've brought wine, for us. And beer, because I didn't know what you'd like best. And....I got you this for dessert.”

 

She sets the cake box on the table. Mati hyperventilates, shaking his hands, half-standing on his chair, half-falling but for the strong grip Porthos has on him. The cake looks incredibly tasty, especially all the macarons on it. His mouth waters at the sight. Mati can barely contain himself.

 

But it won't distract him from his important mission of dipping the chicken breasts in egg yolk and then in the flour and the bread crumbs. Anne tries to stay at a safe distance. She didn't go home and is still wearing her clothes from work, that she would very much like not to have to take them to the dry cleaner so soon. It's better to watch from the side, her glass in hand and to let Porthos do the work. He does it so remarkably well, even when he is being watched. It's effortless and such genuine care and happiness pour from him that Anne can't help but move closer, in spite of what her instincts tell her.

 

She lives for her baby's squeals and giggles and laughter and how clumsy he can be, even though he tries hard to do good. Porthos isn't more talented than she is in the kitchen and yet for the few minutes she spends observing them, you wouldn't be able to say so. It looks as natural as breathing for him: to hold a small hand, to push it away so his clothes won't get dirtier, to push back blonde curls falling on Mati's eyes and bothering him. Porthos looks like a giant, crouching behind the chair to help the boy. Not a comfortable position but one he won't relinquish for the world. It makes him happy. Happy to have his house filled with esctatic sounds. To see how he can light a small boy's world with simple actions.

 

And he's happy to have company over who approves of what he's doing. Anne has been smiling ever since entering the appartment and she doesn't show signs of stopping. Her eyes can't quite settle on anything but them anytime Porthos looks up to make sure he isn't ignoring her. Mati is telling them about the show they are rehearsing for at school, and the play in which he'll probably get to be a policeman. Or a fireman. He's forgotten.

 

What wouldn't Anne give to always be able to spend her evenings like this. To be entertained by Mati of course, but to share these precious moments with someone else who matters. How much she wishes for her blossoming relationship to work out so she can finally have it all. However, she's also deeply aware that Porthos is a hard measurement to equal and that anybody she compares to him fails to hold up to her expectations. Which is bound to bring troubles at one point.

 

But not tonight. Tonight she won't worry about anything. Tonight she'll enjoy her time with her family. Or the members of it she's lucky enough to sit at a table with. Mati does beg for them to call Aramis comes his bedtime. He's insisted that his mother should stay after they had feasted on good food and an amazingly sweet treat. A bit too tart because of the lemon for him, though, which is why all the sugar didn't get to his head. He hardly ate a few bites.

 

Since Porthos is here and his mother is here, they should both read him a bedtime story. It's almost compulsory. As if Mati had understood that their evening would always unfold like this. What good would it do if his mother only stayed for the food? He's a merry fellow snuggling in his small bed, holding on to the two adults who find themselves in an awkward position. Porthos is suddenly a little uncomfortable, sharing such a personal moment with Anne. So many firsts happening lately. Mati is oblivious to his discomfort, urging him to pick a book so that they can find out what happened to the characters they started reading about the previous night.

 

In the end, they make a great team, Anne and him. She doesn't do voices like he does, but she tells the story in hushed tones, which is what Mati needs to settle down. When he begins to ask for his father, he's also rubbing at his eyes and yawning. Too much excitement for the night. One small fist is clenched around Anne's shirt.

 

There's a lot of background noise when Aramis eventually picks up his phone.

 

“Can't fall asleep tonight either?” he teases over the racket until somehow it fades in the distance.

 

“Mati wants to tell you goodnight,” Porthos replies, holding the phone to the little boy's ear. Eager fingers clutch it expertly.

 

“Papá?”

 

“Hi, sweetie. Time to go to bed?”

 

“Yes. Tired. We ate.... _we ate chicken. And cake.”_

 

“ _It must have been delicious.”_

 

“ _Mam_ _á_ _is here.”_

 

“ _Still?”_

 

“ _She read a story. Porfos was the lost bunny.”_

 

“ _He must have been amazing.”_ This is a voice Aramis will definitely need his boyfriend to make again. It should be hilarious. 

 

“ _Tired,”_ Mati says again.

 

“ _Goodnight, sweetie. I love you very, very much and I'm very happy you called.”_

 

“ _Yes.”_

 

“ _I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Papá loves you a bunch.”_

 

“ _Goo'night.”_

 

Mati almost drops the phone handing it back to his stepfather. Aramis hears a lot of shuffling around, quiet voices, doors closing before he can hear his boyfriend's voice again. He's enjoying the party he's in, he's had a lovely day strolling at the festival, interviewing authors and finding new interesting books to read, but he'd give anything to be with Porthos and Anne instead. Their call is like a stab in his chest. He's no idea who he misses the most. He misses them all terribly.

 

“Are you having a nice evening?” Aramis can't help asking. He's both satisfied and disappointed when Porthos assures him that he is. They've had a lot of fun so far. “Do you want me to call you back later?”

 

“No, you enjoy your night, 'mis. I'll be fine. Thank you.”

 

Porthos is clearly having a spectacular night as well, if he can disregard falling asleep without his boyfriend's voice like he did the previous day. Such a change of behavior. Aramis tries not to take it personally. They've just talked after all. It must be enough for Porthos to calm down. A few words can be as effective as a long conversation. It's Aramis who would have loved to snuggle in his hotel bedroom with Porthos on the phone.

 

Aramis tries not to show how crestfallen he is.

 

“Okay, then. I'll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Can't wait.”

 

Mati is quiet at once when they close the bedroom door, which is a first. The kitchen is a mess, the living room table hasn't been cleared and yet Porthos has no desire to tidy anything tonight. Instead, he grabs Anne's glass of wine, his beer and settles on the couch. He groans with relief at how comfortable it is, finally kicks off his shoes and sips from his drink with contentment.

 

Anne watches him with bewilderment.

 

Until he asks her to please sit down, he won't bite her. She was already thinking about putting her jacket on to leave. Hasn't she already imposed too much on her host for the night? Porthos rolls his eyes.

 

“I like the company.”

 

She doesn't require much more prompting, grabbing her wine and curling on the other side of the couch, facing him. They're silent for a while, but she enjoys that. Everything has been going so smoothly. With a pang of guilt, she realizes she might have appreciated this evening more than her date last night.

 

“How's work?” Porthos eventually asks.

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“Because I want to know. And because Mati has been monopolizing the discussion and sometimes I'm thankful we can have grown-up conversations.”

 

Anne smiles at him, her fingers trailing around the rim of her glass. She hugs her knees to her chest, rests her chin on them.

 

“I gave a tour of the museum to a group of Spanish tourists today. That was a nice surprise!”

 

“You usually don't do this?”

 

“No. Usually I stay in my office and I make phonecalls. Or I spend hours stuck in traffic going from museum to museum.”

 

“Why did you choose this job?”

 

Porthos sounds so genuinely interested, willing to know her better. He's listening carefully.

 

“I've always loved history. And museums are so quiet. Most of the time. I mean, go to the Louvres and that'll change your mind. But they're peaceful and they contain such incredible treasures from the past. You can see the entire history of a nation or a continent unfolding in front of your eyes. And sometimes, you get to learn these little anecdotes about how people used to lived centuries before us. It makes me feel closer to them, even though they've been dead for hundred of years. They were real people, they existed at a time that we couldn't imagine anymore. They've had to fight to stay alive, to raise a family. Even though most of the time the stories end in tragedies, it shows that they've lived and that we must remember them. I could spend hours watching artefacts to understand them better. To imagine what it must have been like for them. All the struggles they've been through. Everything they could do with so little. It's amazing. I love paintings, too, for that matter. You can tell so much from a painting. From the time period, from the artist. I love Renaissance paintings because it was such an incredible area. All the use of colors, soft and pastel and all the mythology resurfacing. It's glorious. So yes. I might not get to share my love of all of this with people everyday on tours, but I like having to plan exhibitions. It means I get to choose what should be featured, what stories I want to share with the rest of the world. Am I....am I rambling?”

 

Anne suddenly realizes Porthos hasn't said a word in a long time. He's staring straight at her, as if hypnotized by what she's saying. It makes her blush a little. He waves his hand to tell her to continue.

 

“Sorry. You have to tell me.” Anne takes a sip of her wine.

 

“Don't apologize for what you like. Aramis wouldn't shut up about fencing when I first met him. I never knew I could grow to enjoy this sport so much simply by listening to him.”

 

“What do _you_ like?”

 

“Spending time with my friends,” Porthos says without hesitation. “They were my family growing up and we're so close that even if we do nothing, I always feel better afterwards.”

 

“I miss my friends,” Anne confesses. Porthos's admission is cute. Heartbreaking because of his past, but cute. It puts her whole speech about her job in the shade.

 

“They should come and visit you.”

 

“They're planning to do so when the weather is warmer. I've been so caught up in moving in and getting my bearings that I didn't realize how much I missed them until a couple of weeks ago.”

 

“As long as you're not actually sad you're here.” Porthos would reach out for her hand. She seems a bit down, talking about Spain. But then she smiles faintly at him, shakes her head. Her hair is curly tonight; it bounces on her shoulders.

 

“I'm not.” Most of the time. “I'm getting better,” she admits.

 

“Well, you know you can always count on Aramis if you ever feel down.”

 

Porthos effectively reaches out for her hand, squeezing. He surprises himself by stating this known fact without second thought. His vision of her relationship with his boyfriend has changed drastically and who would he be to deny her whatever comfort she wants to find with her friend? It's not like she's plotting to steal him away from Porthos. Why would she want this?

 

He also surprises Anne with his admission. How can she ever thank him for being such a wonderful human being? He's one of a kind, but so is Aramis. They've done good finding each other. And she's glad Porthos is a part of her life thanks to Aramis. What would she do without the two of them?

 

“He doesn't approve of me dating.”

 

“Why do you say that?”

 

“I know him. It's all in his tone. But that's all right. He dated that terrible, terrible woman when Mati was just a baby and I didn't think she was good for him. Which I was right about, by the way. I never understood why he went out with her. I never tried to stop him,though, even if he knew how I felt. He's doing the same right now.”

 

She's just spilled some stuff Porthos had no idea about, and she hasn't even noticed it. So he won't comment upon it. He squeezes her hand harder.

 

“He wants to protect you. He's like that.”

 

“I know. He means good. It would have been nice to have him here tonight.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I've been thinking that...I want to take you both out for dinner one of these days.”

 

Porthos peaks his head at the statement, shifting to face her on the couch. Whatever incertainty had been in her voice so far while talking about her life, it's gone now. Even her eyes sparkle with more interest.

 

“To thank you. For taking me in when I was sick and for including me in your life. It hasn't been easy and....”

 

“You don't have to,” he cuts her off. Porthos doesn't need such proof to be thanked. He can see it in their eyes anytime they say the words, and he doesn't require more honesty.

 

“I want to. I love spending time with the both of you.”

 

“In that case, then, I won't object.” He'll never say no to free food. Because knowing Anne, it'll be the most exquisite restaurant she can find in the city and they're in for a treat.

 

Anne smiles brightly, finishes to sip on her wine and then she catches how late it's starting to be. It doesn't matter that she only has to walk 10 minutes to go home. It's not what bothers her. She wishes the evening wouldn't end. It was the same when they went to Normandy for their weekend. She loved this _so_ much. It should have lasted forever. But then again, she'll see the men and Mati on Sunday as usual.

 

Perhaps she could take the three of them out for dinner. Or cook them dinner at home. Probably not. Bad idea.

 

* * *

 

Porthos has a headache from the moment he wakes up the next morning. He has hardly drunk anything, but the sight of all the dishes he chose to ignore to spend more time talking with Anne is dreadful. He wouldn't have traded it for anything and yet now that it's so early and they're piling on the kitchen counter, he begins to think otherwise. Especially since he has no time to wash them.

 

Mati is cranky like he always is on Fridays. The end of the school week is always hard on him. He's exhausted and there's cake in the fridge that he would like to eat, even though he frowned at the taste in the evening. Porthos pours him cereal and chocolate milk and for a while the boy won't touch them. Why can't he get Nutella like he did yesterday? Which is what he ends up eating because they're running out of time, and his stepfather won't let him leave the appartment on an empty stomach. As long as Mati doesn't request this specific food every day after today, Porthos is fine with breaking this rule. He's the only one here to deal with the child and managing to get him to the school in time is already such a feat.

 

His head doesn't stop throbbing throughout the day, for no reason in particular. Unless you count having to take care of a five-year old on his own and trying to make him listen to reason. Because wearing only a shirt to school wasn't a good idea, no matter how cool the garment was. Porthos cannot wait for Aramis to come back in the afternoon. He has no energy left to focus on anything at work. It's been one hell of a week. He's loved most of it, but he'll be glad when it goes back to normal.

 

He desperately wants to escape to the safe haven that is his office, with no loud music and dimmed light. If he could take a nap in the middle of the day, he most certainly would. Except that the couch is already taken when he strides into the room, in a hurry to be shielded from everyone else for a moment. And just like that, the weight he had on his heart drops, disappears and his headache lessens considerably.

 

Aramis is as handsome as he was two days beforehand, which is not a surprise, yet always a welcome and breathtaking vision. Porthos has missed everything about him, even more than he believed. He's missed the soft arms circling his neck, the fingers clutching the skin, the hair, the clothing there. He's missed how warm and solid Aramis' body feels against his own when they hug. He's missed this glorious hair and how he can bury his fingers in it. Get lost in it. He's missed how Aramis purrs against his closed lips. Gentle and silky and a treasure to cherish. He's missed Aramis' skilled tongue, how it loses no time.

 

They haven't kissed since Wednesday morning and that is a terrible outrage.

 

Aramis collapses back on the couch under Porthos' weight and his impatience to be closer, so close, to make up for the long hours they've been apart. Aramis cannot complain. It feels remarkably good to have the entire bulk of Porthos' body against him, how he leans to keep on kissing him, how he somewhat kneels between Aramis' spread legs. His tongue is hot in Aramis' mouth, greedy and fast. To give one kiss which will encompass all those they couldn't share while he was away.

 

Aramis moans, which is the first sound close to a word they've made since Porthos entered his office. Words don't matter right now. Grunts are much more effective. Groans, too, when Porthos pushes Aramis back, sinks against him, one knee pressing against his crotch. Aramis gasps. This alone is too much. He's missed Porthos so much that his heart hurts to be reunited with him.

 

This isn't the place to do this, though, regardless of how desperately Porthos would love this option. He wants to touch any part of Aramis he can get his hands on, but he also wants to have all the time in the world to do so. So he settles for sitting back, dragging Aramis on his lap, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. Aramis' uneven breathing brushes his neck and his jawline and it smells like tobacco. His beard scratches Porthos' skin and boy has he missed this as well.

 

“Why didn't you tell me you were coming?” Porthos asks quietly, his lips brushing his boyfriend's, one firm arm around Aramis' waist, fingers on the bare skin under his shirt. Aramis wants to get lost in the touch. Porthos' eyes sparkle down at him, his smile against the other's mouth is a drug. Aramis could feast on it, gazing at it all day long. Gazing at his gorgous boyfriend.

 

“I wanted to surprise you. And also spend some time alone with you without Mati.”

 

“I love you. I missed you.”

 

Porthos crushes him in his arms, flushed against his chest. His heart is beating fast, overjoyed that they're finally together. If it's only the reaction they have after a couple of days apart, God forbid they spend more time separated.

 

Aramis hums with contentment, all but scrambles on top of his boyfriend, legs thrown on Porthos' lap, preventing him from moving if ever he should try to. Not that Porthos wants to. Porthos smells good. He smells of home and coffee and that shower gel he washes with that Aramis cannot bring himself to use. It is Porthos' and he wants to have the pleasure to smell it only on him whenever he is able. One of the small yet plentiful rewards of living with him.

 

Aramis presses one short kiss to Porthos' cheek. And to his nose, feeling the smile even if his eyes are closed. Porthos chuckles, his chest rumbles against Aramis'. Who clutches the other's shoulders more fiercely.

 

“Me too. And me too. A lot,” he eventually replies.

 

Porthos kisses the top of his head, kisses his forehead. His headache has all but faded behind the glee overtaking him from being with Aramis. He doesn't feel like talking much, doesn't want to know how Aramis is, if he had a good day, if his travel back was eventful. He doesn't want to be asked questions either. Not now.

 

Now, he only wants to keep Aramis close.

 

“I brought you a surprise back,” Aramis whispers. “Don't ask what it is. It's a surprise.”

 

“I didn't say anything. I can't wait.”

 

They fall silent again, Aramis' fingers closing on the hem of Porthos' tee-shirt, holding on with no intention of letting go. They don't say much, except for the times when Aramis repeats how glad he is to be back. It's almost the same feeling he had whenever he saw Mati again after months spent apart. Except it's only been two days and a half. How can one person feel so much love for another? How is it possible to still go on and live your life and yet know, deep in your heart, that there's another human being somewhere on the planet which can make it ten times better? Where was Porthos during all these lonely years in Paris at the beginning? Aramis is so thankful he's here now, where he has been for two years. He never wants these feelings to subside.

 

He can't stop touching Porthos, although it's a mutual feeling. Porthos is transfixed by the freshness on the other's face, his smiles and his tinkling eyes. They wouldn't leave the office if it wasn't because they had to collect Mati at school. But even while they stroll in the street doing so -it's a nice day, why not walk as much as they can? The subway is a nuisance- they keep on holding hands, their shoulders bumping.

 

The bell ringing is drilling in Porthos' head, though, the faint but obnoxious pain resurfacing. He rests his head against Aramis', rubbing his forehead on the soft curls there.

 

“I've a headache.”

 

Aramis' hand comes to cradle him closer, the pads of his fingers gliding on the skin. Soothing.

 

“You survived Mati on your own, sweetie. You're amazing.”

 

“It still hurts.”

 

Aramis snorts, kisses Porthos' nose and promises they'll buy painkillers on the way home. He has to relinquish his hold on his boyfriend soon after, since a swarm of small children comes out of the school building and Mati hits him straight in the legs as soon as he's noticed his father waiting for him. It takes Aramis' breath away in a painful way.

 

“Papá!” It's a loud squeal, one which makes Porthos flinch. Such an honest one, though, such happiness pouring from the boy now buried in Aramis' arms, trapped and being kissed endlessly, that Porthos thinks he can live with it.

 

“I've missed you, cutie pie!”

 

“Me too!” Mati shrieks, his hair in his father's face, strong hands on his small back. He giggles once Aramis tugs on a loose curl.

 

“You'll have to tell me _everything_ that happened while I was gone.”

 

“Everything, Papá?” It sounds like quite a challenge.

 

“Everything.”

 

Mati giggles again. His father looks so serious. He completely forgets to greet Porthos who is reduced to picking up the backpack carelessly thrown aside.

 

“Can we go to the park?” Mati asks once he's back on his feet and he has been prompted to give a kiss to his stepfather as well. He does much more, clutching the large fingers in his hand.

 

“Now?”

 

“Yes! Ra _f_ aël is going, too! And Augustin. With Dimitri! Please? Please, please?” Mati makes pleading eyes at his father and at Porthos. “Wait!”

 

And before any of the adults has had time to tell him no, the boy has dashed towards his friends. Porthos rubs his forehead. The park would mean fresh air. It'd also mean shouts and screams and children. Much more than his poor pain could handle.

 

“Hello. I saw you with Mati.”

 

Porthos recognizes the woman from the many afternoons she's here to collect her child. Her belly has grown so much over the months when he first met her in October. Is she Dimitri's mother? Or was it one of these girls with the shiny black shoes and the neat sweaters?

 

“I'm his father, hi.” Aramis beams proudly whenever he can say this.

 

“Oh, when Mati said he had two dads I presumed he meant you lived with his mother,” she tells Porthos.

 

“Nope. I live with Aramis.” Whose waist he circles protectively. She's always been so nice to him whenever they have a chance to speak but you never know how people will react when they'll learn such a thing. Once again, he has nothing to fear and there are indeed so many nice people in the world he is lucky enough to be acquainted with.

 

“My apologies, then. I shouldn't have assumed. Are you joining us in the park? It's such a fine day.”

 

It is. Sunny and warm for late March. And the woman has just told them so many fantastic things she isn't even aware of that they have to tag along. They have to kiss, too. But they make it quick because Mati is urging them to do so.

 

He has so much energy to spend that he barely pays attention to them when the small group reaches the park. It's appreciated to be included with other parents, Aramis finds out. Everybody is polite and well-mannered and even though they all have nannies to take care of the children, they clearly love them as much as he does Mati.

 

Aramis loves everything about the city. The green grass and the slides and the people running in the large alleys, clouds of dust behind them. He loves the trolley where they sell waffles and crêpes and the whipped cream which sticks to his fingers once he's done eating. He loves the birds and the wind in the leaves which would almost make him forget the city is always bustling with disturbing noises and animation.

 

He loves how in such a gigantic city they can find places like this little park they have taken over. He loves how well-integrated Mati is in his school and all the friends he's made. All the homes he's invited to play in. Perhaps they'll have to start doing the same. He fears a little for their sanity if they were to have to watch over more than one child at a time, though.

 

He loves how comfortable Porthos is by his side, chatting with the mothers and the au-pairs. Aramis is fine simply listening and watching his son having fun. He wants to forget he's had to spend so long away from him. From them.

 

“Are you okay, Porthos?” he has to inquire. The waffle is still untouched in his boyfriend's hand. He hasn't said a word on long minutes now that they are alone on their bench. He's frowning a little, his eyes going from Mati to his lap.

 

“It's just...something that Dimitri's mom said.”

 

“She is really friendly, isn't she? I like her.”

 

“Yeah. Me too.”

 

“What's wrong then? You're troubled.”

 

“Yeah. It's.....Mati said he had two....dads?” Porthos chokes on the last word a little. Before he has time to comprehend what's happening, Aramis has crushed him in his embrace, Porthos' face squashed on his chest. He surrenders to it, feels the few tears he's been fighting to keep inside threatening to spill. It's all too much.

 

“He loves you, sweetie. Much more than I could have expected. And you deserve everything. You are amazing and wonderful and we adore you. And yes. You are. If that's how he wants people to know you by, then yes. Yes, you are.”

 

Aramis feels a little emotional, too, his voice breaking while he praises his boyfriend.

 

“But I'm not....”

 

“Porthos? Listen to me. You're behaving like a parent on so many extraordinary levels. I don't think he differentiates much between us. I mean, sure, I've been here longer and he's my baby but....you've grown so much with him and you can't imagine how much I love you for it. It's another side of you that you didn't know you had and watching you coming to terms with it? It's incredible.”

 

“God, this is embarassing,” Porthos sniffs, forced to raise his head so that Aramis can trap his face between his hands. He won't let him go, he won't let him hide his watery eyes. Instead, Aramis leans and kisses the tears away. Softly. Sweetly. Porthos chuckles. Sniffs again. “Thank you. You don't know what it means to me.”

 

“I think I have a fairly good idea of it, sweetie. Which is why you deserve it even more. You've come from such hardships. You deserve it.”

 

Porthos truly believes it, too. His heart swells, his throat clenches with so many emotions that he's a bit ashamed to fall apart like this in public. Especially if it isn't for a sad news. And then he's safe in Aramis' arms again, and so it doesn't really matter if they attract attention.

 

 


	15. March (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To follow the "surprise" Aramis was talking about in the previous chapter.

Porthos is sitting on the couch, barefoot and a glass of wine in his hand. Aramis is lounging by his side, his legs propped on his boyfriend's lap, his head thrown back on the armrest. Nobody's talking because silence is something that must be enjoyed when they can have some. Until Porthos finishes his drink and finds that it's too much of a stretch to lean forward and grab the bottle for a refill.

 

Aramis' eyes are half-closed, a small smile on his lips.

 

“Aramis?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I hate to ask but...didn't you say you had a surprise for me?”

 

“I do,” Aramis hums around his wine. He can see Porthos watching him closely from behind his heavy eyelids. He wiggles his toes, stretches more on the couch. “I told you it was for when Mati will be with Anne.”

 

“Which he is now.”

 

“Correct.”

 

It's so comfortable and cozy on the couch, though, that even if Aramis is actually eager to share his brilliant purchase with his boyfriend, it seems like a blasphemy to move for the time being. Porthos nudges his foot.

 

“You also said it was for the bedroom and I swear I've been raking my brain trying to be very good not asking what it was, but it's killing me.”

 

Aramis giggles.

 

“You've been teasing too much for the last two days, 'mis.”

 

Aramis giggles again, sits up straight and draps himself all over Porthos. The taste of the sweet wine is still on his tongue, familiar to his boyfriend, enhancing the kiss much more. Porthos grabs the back of Aramis' head, pushes him closer, swallows the other's tongue and kisses until Aramis gasps for her.

 

“I think it's enough teasing for the weekend,” Porthos growls.

 

Aramis nods, flushed. Scrambles to his feet and returns only a minute later with the bad he proudly presents to Porthos. Who does a double-take after he's studied what's inside. Aramis is grinning at him like he's accomplished some incredible feat, his fingers busy stroking Porthos' chest.

 

“I thought you went there to work.”

 

“I did. I took a walk in the city, too.”

 

“And you bought handcuffs.”

 

“Well you said you might want to and I've to confess that it did sound quite appealing. So I did.”

 

Porthos has to give a laugh. And a kiss to Aramis, who grabs a handful of his tee-shirt and won't relinquish his hold for the world.

 

“Like that, you can actually use your hands and I won't be able to move anyway,” Aramis whispers against Porthos' lips.

 

Saying it out loud sends shivers of excitement through his body. He discards the bag to the side, straddles Porthos and dives in for another greedy kiss. Porthos' hands come to rest on his boyfriend's moving hips. They're doing so slowly, taking their time, but Porthos is enjoying it so much more. His fingers dig into Aramis' flesh, who moans in his mouth.

 

He's getting hot from kissing alone, from the hands firm on him, roaming from his back to his ass. How his tee-shirt ends up on the floor faster than he would have imagined. Porthos is tracing burning paths with silky fingers, scratching ever so slightly only to feel Aramis squirm against him, to hear him gasp against his lips.

 

Porthos' mouth trails down to Aramis' neck, sucking thoroughly there, making him cock his head to the side. It gives him goosebumps. Porthos groans at the pressure on his groin.

 

“Bedroom?” Aramis rasps out. His jeans are growing uncomfortable, too.

 

“Bedroom.”

 

Aramis hops to his feet, grabs the bag carelessly thrown to the floor and Porthos' hand to lead the way. He's literally skipping, making it difficult for Porthos to undo his pants while walking. Aramis helps him when they're in front of the bed, taking his off as well.

 

And then he falls on the fluffy comforter, dragging Porthos along on top of him. His boyfriend might still be wearing his underwear but Aramis is completely naked, because there is no time to lose and it's been almost a week since they've had sex and they can be as loud as they want and take all the time that they want and he's too eager. The fabric of the boxers brushes on his hardening cock, new sensations that make him buck his hips to get more.

 

Porthos drives him down onto the bed, holding none of his weight back. He can feel all of Aramis, he can feel the fingertips gliding on the sensitive skin of his back, making him shudder. He can feel them running along the waistline of his underwear, diving under a little, touching the hot skin there. Going impossibly lower, pulling him impossibly closer.

 

Aramis wraps his legs around Porthos' waist, doesn't stop to let him adjust and his boyfriend swears. Porthos bites his lip, stifles a moan which is muffled by the glistening skin of Aramis' chest. It's pulsing with each of his heartbeats, with each of the thrusts Aramis urges him to make. He loves showing Porthos what he needs and how he needs it, because Porthos will always do it harder and stronger. Everything so that Aramis will have this ecstatic look on his face. Eyes closed and head thrown back. Exposing so much to Porthos and his greedy kisses. Slow and passionate. Anything to drive them both crazy.

 

Aramis loves being somewhat in charge, even if he's crushed by his boyfriend. Stopped from moving by the two fists clenching around his wrists, pinning him flat. His breathing is ragged once Porthos pulls away. Aramis looks down, licks his lips, looks up at Porthos with shining eyes. His boyfriend shifts, hides the bulge in his underwear but Aramis has seen its outline and he wants to get his hands on it. His lips.

 

“You'll have to tell me if it hurts too much,” Porthos warns, his chest heaving. His body is going against him because Aramis is stark naked underneath him. A beautiful sight to behold, cock hard and begging to be touched. Aramis is glorious, watching Porthos with loving and lusty eyes. The handcuffs are cold against his wrists but he'll get used to it.

 

“Headboard's not really comfortable,” he decides, testing how much he can move his hands. Not much. But then Porthos adds a pillow behind his boyfriend, soft and warm and Aramis can move without getting his back scratched by unpleaseant iron.

 

He chases after Porthos' mouth, but he's stuck and even though he begins to enjoy the situation, it frustrates him. Porthos obliges him after he's started to whine. Tiny, light kisses and in between each one he withdraws more until he's totally out of reach and Aramis is straining.

 

“Do you want the other stuff, too?” Porthos asks, fingers absent-mindedly moving up and down Aramis' leg. Every time they so much as graze the skin on his hip, he jerks up a little. He drawls a long yes which ends up in a gasp at the fingers coming so close to his pulsing cock that even the shadow of a touch sends sparks of renewed desire to his guts.

 

“You _tell_ me,” Porthos insists, because no matter how enthusiastic the other seems, and how Porthos also is to do this with Aramis, he doesn't want to ruin everything. Aramis can only nod, shivering at the fingers in his hair, at the softness of the blindfold and then all he sees is darkness.

 

He hears everything, though. How solid and unshaking Porthos' dexterous finger knot the fabric, how ragged his breathing is, how it washes over his face and the kiss comes as a surprise. Porthos' lips taste like wine and sweat and Aramis makes to lick them, listens to the shuffling around him, pulls on the handcuffs, feels Portho's hand on his chest. How it's splayed there. It rubs up and down, traces the mucles Aramis believes are disappearing. They come very much alive under the caress.

 

Aramis can feel everything so much better. He can hear the silence and Porthos' body is nowhere close to his. It's driving him insane. Until he shudders at the tongue licking the beads of sweat on his stomach. Licking all the way up to his nipples. He sucks in a breath, feel the muscles clench and Porthos' hand grip his hip.

 

His skin is smooth and nice and Porthos has it in mind to suck every inch of it. Simply to see how Aramis squirms and tries to get him to touch more each time Porthos draws back for too long. His legs can't stay still, Aramis' cock is twitching at the lack of attention, the wet tongue gliding so close and yet never effectively licking it.

 

Aramis whines, hisses after Porthos has circled a nipple, and the other. Aramis pushes his chest up, moves his head from side to side, can't settle down for the world. He feels hot without any clothes on. He bites his lip. Porthos is setting him on fire.

 

But then, he's gone. Completely gone.

 

Aramis can feel the bed sink and cloth ruffling, quick walking and then nothing. More noises from far off in the appartment that he cannot make out. He tries to slow his breathing, he takes slow breaths to calm how fast his heart is beating.

 

“Porthos?”

 

“One sec!”

 

“Are we good?”

 

“Yes. I'm here. Sorry.”

 

It sounds like a dash on the wooden floor and the bed sinks back with the added bulk of his boyfriend. He's kissing Aramis' lips at once, lifting the blindfold just a bit to show him that everything's fine. Aramis blinks, reassured without even knowing he was nervous.

 

“I saw this in a movie,” he explains, blinding a quietened Aramis and sitting on his lap. Somehow his underwear has been lost along the way, Aramis finds out. His breathing itches, feeling one hard cock on his own, rubbing and pressing.

 

“You watch....movies.....without me?”

 

“Before you. But....we could....”

 

“Yes....another time....Show me your trick then.”

 

Porthos stretches against Aramis' chest, which leads to more wiggling underneath him because it's becoming a bit too much to hear everything, to feel his boyfriend and not be able to do anything about it. Even bucking his hips is difficult under Porthos' weight.

 

There's something cold on Aramis' lips quickly after, something he can suck on, something that Porthos wants him to guess by himself. He's enjoying the show of Aramis blindfolfed and tied up, unable to do much but wait for him to take matters further. Porthos is stroking himself, fingertips rubbing against Aramis' cock as well. They're smeared with precome so fast.

 

Aramis moans, licks the wet and freezing ice cube, recognizes it for what it is, can't see how transfixed Porthos is by the pink tongue sucking on it. How Aramis purses his lips around it.

 

Porthos warms these same lips with his own, while he lets the ice cube melt and drip in his boyfriend's neck. Porthos lets it slide down Aramis' chest, swallows the hiss of surprise and proceeds to lick down to follow the path of the melting water. There are goosebumps under his tongue and Aramis arches his back.

 

Until this very moment he'd never realized how gentle and smooth Porthos' lips felt on his bare skin. He thought he knew it because they may be his favorite thing to kiss and yet right now, they make him feel things he's never felt before. He's dying for them.

 

Porthos shuffles down, wraps one cool hand around Aramis' cock and relishes in the loud curse his boyfriend gives. Everything is unexpected and Aramis _loves_ it. It's like they're sleeping together for the first time again. So much to learn and discover. But with that familiarity which makes it all better.

 

Aramis drowns the silence in grunts, his hips jerking up at the tongue circling his cock, sucking greedily. Porthos laps at the entire length of it, sucks on the tip thoroughly, strokes the wet flesh hard and fast. Then does it all over again. There's a salty taste in his mouth which he goes for again, one hand playing with Aramis' nipple. His boyfriend's entire body thrashes under him, Porthos lying between the spread legs. He's breathing around Aramis' cock, swallowing and sucking. Going slow, letting the other sense every second of it to its fullest.

 

Aramis tugs on his hands, stretches from head to toes under Porthos' care, shudders once the eager tongue gives tiny licks on his cockhead, one strong fist pulling on his cock fiercely. Aramis groans. Porthos doesn't stop. He knows Aramis, knows what'll get him off and how easier it'll be today. If he had known, he would have bought handcuffs earlier.

 

He slows down when the breathing above him is too ragged, when the chest heaves too quickly. His fingers fondle Aramis' balls, he rests his cheek on his boyfriend's thigh and lets his hot breath wash over the sensitive flesh. He's uncomfortable as ever, stroking his own cock to get some sort of friction that no one else will provide.

 

Apart from the hammering heartbeat, Aramis is wonderfully safe. He trusts Porthos, trusts that whatever may come next, it'll be unexpected, this much he's understood, but he'll love it immensely. And it adds to the thrill. Porthos' fingers are playful, they take their time. They take too long. It's a ticklish caress until Aramis goes slack under the headboard once more. Without seeing anything, he feels the hair stuck to his forehead, how sweaty his face is. How his back sticks to the pillow. How his legs stick to the comforter.

 

He feels dirty and he feels good.

 

There's no trace left of the ice cube anymore. Porthos' touch on his lower stomach startles him, in spite of how hot all of their flesh is. The touch moves lower once more, lets Aramis sense all of it, so deliberately slow that Aramis is losing it. But not as much as when Porthos' open mouth lands on his balls, sucking while he grips his boyfriend's hip. There are fingernails digging into Aramis' skin. He wants more.

 

Porthos happily obliges to the half-shouted request, groping more skin, going harder. His beard is a blessing on the tender flesh of the other's cock and balls. It rubs and it scratches, it sends sparks of euphoria straight to his belly. The darkness around him is too much. He threads his fingers together above his head, holds on to them. Tries to hold on to the headboard. The metal is digging a little in his wrists but he couldn't care less.

 

Not when Porthos' naughty fingers are stoking so fast they're sending bright light under his shut eyelids. Neither of them is speaking but Aramis can hear so much of what's happening inside of his body. He can feel the exact moment his orgasm will hit. No matter how much he tries to delay it. He likes this _too much_.

 

The roughness of Portho's tongue, the smoothness of his fingers, how hot and dexterous they are, how skilled his lips are, how expertly they suck and swallow. How his tongue circles, sucks, plays with his balls and the underside of his cock. How sleek fingers move up and down, how they make him gasp once they probe his ass. Warm and wet and Porthos' mouth is so close to them that Aramis loses it.

 

Porthos hums against him, forces him to spread his legs more, touches Aramis' hole with the tip of his tongue. Carefully. Testing. Aramis swears. Doesn't stop cursing for as long as Porthos is down there, his ass clenching around the fingers. It hurts and it's good and Aramis always wants more.

 

He wants to see Porthos, but his imagination can do much more. He's seen his boyfriend down there so many times that conjuring an image is easy. He can picture Porthos' head and how he must be looking at him with dark eyes. How desperate he is for Aramis to come undone. How he must stroke himself because Porthos cannot resist going down on his boyfriend without touching himself. The bed creaks underneath Aramis.

 

Porthos presses two fingers inside of Aramis again, curls them and watches the other's body respond to them. Aramis bucks his hips, pushes himself down on his boyfriend, kicks his legs to demand more. He'll never care if it burns or if it's too much at once. He wants it all. Everything. Always.

 

“You're awfully quiet, cupcake,” Porthos whispers in Aramis' ear, making him shiver. He sucks along his jawline, gives him a peck on the cheek. Aramis trembles. He's too busy focusing on the fingers working him to talk more.

 

“What...can I say? You're....too good.”

 

Porthos' chuckle rumbles on the other's face. He's so close and yet so far. Aramis tugs on the handcuffs.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Yes,” Aramis rasps out. His arms are growing numb but he doesn't mind. What he minds is the lack of action going on in his ass now that Porthos is too preoccupied by his well-being to move. “Would you mind....fucking me?”

 

“Well, if it's asked so nicely....”

 

Porthos bites in Aramis' neck, likes the red blooming on an already overstimulated skin. Aramis moans. So Porthos does it again.

 

“You should see yourself,” Porthos marvels, rocking back on his heels, admiring the fine view of Aramis' tied up body, his hard cock and his inviting ass.

 

“You should take a picture,” Aramis replies, trying to decide where his boyfriend is, what he'll do next.

 

“I'd rather do that.”

 

Aramis hisses at how his legs are spread and lets out a shuddering breath at Porthos' cock pushing awfully slow inside of him. Porthos can't do it any other way. The sight that his boyfriend is giving him is getting to his head. Both of them. And apparently not only to his.

 

Porthos huffs, pulls Aramis towards him as much as he can, watches him strain against the headboard and then he urges Porthos to keep on doing whatever he wants. He's loving it all. Loving how stretched he is, how full Porthos' cock is inside of him. How it pulses and moves and rubs all the good places that Aramis hears, actually _hears_. He finds it fantastic. So much that he's rocking against Porthos, his wrists on fire but nothing which could prevent him from doing so.

 

His mouth falls partly open and when he tastes Porthos' warm breath so close to his face, he has to lean in to find its source. He crashes against desperate lips, gasps in the kiss and how hard Porthos' thrusts are. How his hands are holding on to Aramis' legs and how deep into him he manages to dive. Farther than he's ever been, Aramis believes. Or he must simply be experiencing it in a better way. He can't get enough of it.

 

Of the sloppy kiss or the burning cock aching inside of him.

 

His own hurts, untouched yet trapped between their two bodies. Porthos' chest rubs against him, makes him rub against Aramis' own stomach. Leaking as it is.

 

Porthos drowns the grunts, his own and Aramis', clutches one hip with one hand and uses the other to push the blindfold down. Aramis blinks, can't see anything but his gorgeous boyfriend invading his space for a few seconds.

 

“Look at me,” Porthos tells him. Orders him. Aramis complies, looking down at how he's being fucked, how harsh and rapid his boyfriend is. How magnificent his cock is. How well it strokes inside. Aramis moans. Bites his lip, bites Porthos' after he's come for another kiss.

 

Porthos' hand covers his still tied with no intention of freeing him. It stays there until somehow Aramis manages to clutch a couple of dark fingers. He hooks one leg around Porthos' calf, struggles to get his bearings in the bright light and pushes him in deeper.

 

The thrusts take his breath away every time, but his eyes are unable to settle. He can't choose whether he'd rather look at his cock and how Porthos moves inside of him or at Porthos' face. How he's staring straight at Aramis. His eyes alone are enough for his boyfriend to lose it. He's completely lost in Porthos, can't breathe and can't hold on to anything and when he comes, he does so with a shuddering grunt followed by a loud shout.

 

His body spasms, but Porthos won't stop. Can't stop. Aramis has thrown his head back, eyes closed to let his orgasm wash over him. Porthos can hear how sticky his chest becomes each time it rubs against the pulsing cock. Aramis won't let go, trapping the other close to him, urging him to go faster.

 

“I'm liking this a lot, Porthos. I'm liking it so much. You get to do everything that you want. And I can't do anything. I'm all yours.”

 

He moans, raising his foot to rest on Porthos' ass, rubbing and pushing. Asking him to go faster. Porthos' moves fuel the soft fire Aramis is going through. A pure pleasure that he never wants to end.

 

“You're so big and I can still feel your tongue on me. So greedy and so hot. I want to do the exact same thing you did to me. Suck you off so well that you'll come in my mouth. Warm and delicious.”

 

Aramis can hardly breathe around his words and how hard Porthos is fucking him. How he wished he could touch him to finish him off. So he asks him.

 

“Uncuff me, Porthos. I wanna help.”

 

He licks his lips, licks Porthos' while he strains against him without hesitation, motionless inside of Aramis for a moment. It makes it all the more better.

 

Aramis' wrists are sore but then he collapses against Porthos, caresses the wide expanse of the sweaty chest, pinches nipples and licks collarbones. He wraps his legs around his boyfriend's waist to end up on his lap, to be the one thrusting down on Porthos' cock. Aramis' softening one is sensitive but it doesn't matter. None of the pain matters. He's holding on to Porthos' neck, pushing down as hard as he can, tugging on hair and sucking sensitive flesh.

 

Licking nipples, raking fingernails down Pothos' back, pressing down so much so fast that Porthos crushes him in his embrace when he comes. Aramis ends up on top of him after Porthos has fallen down on the bed, exhausted and spent. Wonderfully ecstatic and sated.

 

He kisses Aramis's red wrists softly, over and over until giggles replace labored breathing and Aramis buries himself by his side, under Porthos' safe arm.

 

“How you feelin'?” Porthos eventually asks. Aramis hums against his skin, watches his fingers splayed on his boyfriend's stomach. He flexes them, finds that there's some pain in his arm that he doesn't much care about.

 

“It was very, very, good.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yes. I liked it.”

 

“I liked it, too. You seemed to enjoy it.”

 

“I truly did.”

 

“Good. You were so beautiful, 'mis. Really. I've never seen you like this.”

 

Aramis' answer is to purr in delight, to let the roaming hand on his sore back soothe the muscles. Porthos kisses the top of his head. His boyfriend's hair is damp. The room smells like sweat and too much exertion and they need to take a shower. Together.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like it to be known that whatever new porn idea you might have found for the boys while reading this chapter, they will *not* be included in this story. In one-shots later on, perhaps (definitely), but pure porn won't distract me from the major plot from now on. If you do want to ask for some, though, go ahead.


	16. March (Part III)

Porthos taps on the front desk to get the attention of the two employees in deep conversation behind it.

 

“Is something wrong with the elliptical?” he inquires, voice meaning business even though how the two startled and looked up at him with wondering eyes was rather funny. Two new heads wipe in the direction their boss is pointing at behind him.

 

“I don't think so. Why?”

 

“I've been watching from my office and she hasn't moved in like, five minutes.”

 

The girl leans forward on her chair, knocks the magazine to the floor. It's a slow day and when there's nothing to do, well, there's nothing to do. At least they're not shopping online.

 

“Yes. She's been doing that since she's arrived. Exercising a little and then she stops moving. But since no one else is waiting for it, we decided not to bother her anymore.”

 

“You did, though?”

 

“Yep,” the man chimes in, standing up again just in case his boss decides that he should go over there once again. “But she said she was fine. She didn't look fine to me, but if she wants to be left in peace...”

 

Porthos frowns.

 

“As long as she doesn't fall down and hurt herself,” he adds and it makes Porthos frown even more.

 

“If you're so bored, go make us coffee,” Porthos orders, and then he strides towards the exercise room, the loud music and Anne who hasn't moved one bit since he's started watching her.

 

He appreciates that she likes coming here, that she likes the classes and the machines. That she enjoys the company of the other customers or being able to talk with him once in a while. But what's the point of paying for a gym membership if she's simply going to be still on a machine?

 

Her headphones are on, clearly shielding her from the outside world. Her hair is half out of her ponytail, falling on her cheeks, hiding her face and her eyes to the outside world. She doesn't hear him, she doesn't even see him standing close by her side until he nudges her elbow. She starts so violently Porthos is almost the one responsible for a potential injury. Except he's quick to grab her arm firmly so she won't fall.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Oh, hi, Porthos. I didn't see you there.” Anne's voice breaks, hoarse from not talking for quite some time. She turns off her music, busies herself with putting the player away, avoiding his eyes so much that he cannot help but notice.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

“Yes. A little tired.”

 

It's Thursday after all and Porthos knows first hand that a Wednesday afternoon with Mati has consequences the following day. Aramis is always exhausted, cranky when he needs to wake up after a night definitely too short.

 

Anne smiles faintly at him and with one flicker of her eyes, Porthos grows even more suspicious of what she's telling him. He helps her down, watches her gather her towel and her bottle of untouched water. She hasn't exercised at all. She's hardly out of breath, even though her chest heaves.

 

“Are you sure everything's okay, Anne?”

 

“I'm fine, Porthos. Thank you.”

 

She doesn't look like it to him either. Weak on her legs, rubbing her forehead and her eyes as she walks back to the locker room because she's going to be late otherwise. Obviously avoiding him. Porthos nevertheless follows.

 

“They're making coffee if you want some before you head out.”

 

Her smile is somewhat brighter when he suggests it, her eyes more thankful when they eventually settle on him. Red and worried. Porthos refrains from asking further since it's clear she won't tell him anything. He won't push. He's not Aramis, he has no right to do so, even if it puzzles him. For all he knows, something might be wrong at work. After all, Anne very rarely comes on this day anyway. Yes, that's probably it. And work problems can be fixed. If she says so, then everything will indeed be fine soon.

 

Waiting in front of the locker room would be awkward even for him so he retreats to his office, steaming mug in hand, after having given some mindless work to his idle employees. And instructions to direct Anne to him if she should come looking.

 

Which she does, long, long minutes later. So long that Porthos had begun to think she had left altogether. Anne took her time in the shower, which was not needed but which was soothing. For a moment, she could forget what had crashed upon her and although she's ashamed and it's all her fault, the idea of spending some time with someone as comforting and as nice as Porthos sounded extremely appealing. He won't be able to do much to help her, but she's seen first hand how his mere presence could console people. It might have the same effect on her. She's craving it.

 

What she hadn't planned was that in spite of her neatly applied make-up and her hair being down, Porthos can somehow notice that she isn't her normal self. He's seen it straight away, wouldn't push so she was grateful for it. He's kind as he hands her some warmed-up coffee. It's bitter and the taste is off. What matters is that he sits her down on the couch, as caring as ever. She keeps on mustering the most convincing smile she can while all she wants is to crawl into bed. Or to be hugged. But she doesn't know if it'd be appropriate to request one.

 

“Did something happen at work?” Porthos eventually has to ask. It's unnerving to sit close to her, to watch her squirm and frown and purse her lips, not drinking her coffee, but studying it. She's so lost in thoughts, having said no words apart from _hey_ and _thanks_.

 

“Work's perfect.”

 

“Did something happen to Mati? Is he sick?”

 

Anne catches the edge of apprehension in this question. How amazing it is that Porthos cares so much about her child. How lucky she is that at least one man they've met thinks that the boy is invaluable and needs to be cherished and loved for what he truly is.

 

“He's good, too.”

 

“Did you get bad news from Spain?”

 

“No. Everybody's well over there, as well.”

 

“Well then, I don't know.” Porthos shrugs helplessly. Anne shifts on the couch to face him more completely, her head still down. Her answers have been mumbles so far. She's so different from the Anne Porthos has always known. It makes it all the more scary because for something to shake someone like her, it must be pretty tragic.

 

“It's really stupid. There's no need to bother with it.”

 

“It mustn't be that stupid if it's affecting you this much. I mean, you're doing a great job trying to hide it.”

 

“And failing apparently.”

 

“Well, I know you. I guess.”

 

The assumption warms her heart to incredible levels. Much more than she would have ever imagined. Porthos' smile is gentle, so are his eyes and she'd like to hold on to him and forget what's happened in the last hours. The thought alone brings tears to her eyes that she wipes hastily.

 

“Do you want to talk to Aramis?” Porthos offers. “I mean, he's at work but we could call him. Would that make you feel better?”

 

Anne shakes her head, accepts the tissue he hands her. How embarassing to fall apart like this with Aramis' boyfriend. What great vision she must give him. Porthos is so fantastic. She sniffs, takes a deep breath. Her voice still comes out as a whisper.

 

“He broke up with me this morning.”

 

“That's not stupid!” Porthos almost shouts. “That's not stupid at all, Anne. I'm sorry.”

 

He's the one who reaches for her hand and she strongly clutches the fingers instinctively. One tear rolls down her cheek and she lets out a shuddering breath.

 

“It's my fault, I think.”

 

“Why do you say that?”

 

“I waited too long to tell him about Mati and....But I don't get it because when I did let him know last week, he seemed okay with it. He....And then....I don't understand.”

 

“Is that what he said to you? That it was because of Mati?” Porthos can feel rage bubble inside of him. Perhaps it's actually better that she's telling him first before Aramis who would have had less restraint. Anne shrugs.

 

“His text didn't say much apart from....”

 

“He sent you a text?”

 

This time it's a shout, an actual one. In less than a few seconds, Porthos hates someone he's never met in his life. How pathetic is that? How can you do this to someone else? Regardless of what happened, regardless how what hasn't been said from the start, regardless of what you might want out of a relationship, this is never all right in his books. Especially not if it's done to Anne who was so frightened to open up to others. No wonder she's so shaken. What a jerk.

 

Anne cannot answer but with a tiny nod. She can see the words written on the screen even when she closes her eyes. She's deleted the text immediately, her hands shaking while she did so. Telling it to someone else, someone as close to her as Porthos, it makes all the bad feelings resurface and she sobs a little. It's ridiculous. She's only known this man for a couple of months. But she had been feeling somehow good with him. At times, she could almost forget about Aramis and Porthos while she was out with him.

 

So yes, she did wait too long to mention the important thing that was her son. A child can be a deal breaker, which was exactly why she hadn't told him. For once, she wanted to be a normal woman who could go out and have fun. But it'd been a mistake. She could never forget about her family. They're a part of her, they're _her_ and it was eating her alive. Anne had expected that it would come as a shock but he had seemed understanding at first. Attentive as she explained her reasons for not telling him earlier and that she hoped it wouldn't end things.

 

And clearly, it hadn't, since she had a date the previous evening. It must have damaged things between them, though.

 

“Can I give you a hug?” Porthos inquires after he's cursed, saying out loud what she wouldn't dare utter about a man she will likely never hear from again. Because if he's a coward and doesn't want to say things in person, why should she try to contact him?

 

It hurts, though, given that she had begun to put her trust in him and it was a mistake. It hurts because she was starting to imagine that she could be happy with someone else. It hurts because she hates herself for not making it work. It's her fault.

 

Porthos' arms are warm, so is the chest under her cheek and the hand in her hair is soothing. What a magical place it is to be in, trapped in a solid embrace with someone who respects and values her. Someone who thinks highly of her. Someone who only wants her to be happy. Anne breathes out, clings to Porthos' tee-shirt and can't help the tears.

 

She's so vulnerable, so lost that Porthos doesn't quite know what to tell her. He won't suggest Aramis again: it would only make it worse. Maybe she does need one of them to state out loud what a bastard the other is, but Porthos isn't sure it's his place. He nonetheless can keep on repeating that she deserves more and that it's absolutely not her fault.

 

“But it is. A little. He wanted me to stay last night and....”

 

Anne blushes, remembering who she is talking to. They may be close, they're not that close. They literally couldn't be closer today on that couch, though. Porthos' fingers are smooth and his sushing voice is appeasing. If she closes her eyes, Anne can get lost in the moment and for a fraction of a second, be oblivious to what prompted it. This is enchanting. She wishes she could always benefit from this level of ease and comfort. Porthos smells good, he smells familiar, he smells like something that she can trust. Her heart settles, if only a tiny bit.

 

“....I couldn't because of Mati. We've never heard of babysitters who stayed the night, have we?”

 

“Certainly not,” Porthos replies after a minute. He wasn't positive she was expecting an answer. He feels the tremors against his chest, how her breath fans there, hot and shaky. Her perfect fingernails are digging in the bare skin of his arm. Painful.

 

“That's what I told him,” Anne mutters, shifting closer. Porthos tries to accommodate her so she won't end up sitting on his lap. She's needy, another side of her he didn't know could exist with anybody else but Aramis.

 

“He was upset, I get it, but then I said....I think....If I remember correctly....I said that Mati would always come first and....” She hiccups, soaks his tee-shirt, mouthing her answer against the fabric. Porthos pats her back.

 

“...I shouldn't have said that.”

 

“Listen to me, Anne.” Porthos can't have her blaming herself for what happened. His opinion doesn't matter right now; nor the fact that if she had told her man from the beginning, they might have been able to work things out better. None of it is irrelevant since the guy proved to be a dick who doesn't deserve to have Anne worry her pretty brains over him ever again.

 

Porthos forces her to look up at him, hands steady holding her head so she'll have no choice but to stare straight at him with watery eyes and a runny nose. Anne knows she must be so unattractive right now, awful and her make-up is ruined. So how can he look at her with such intensity? He sounds reassuring, though and she needs it. His touch is soft.

 

“Don't ever apologize for saying the truth,” Porthos declares. “He obviously couldn't handle it or he wasn't as willing to make it work as he may have assured you. But it's not your fault. You were very brave, letting him know, trusting him and it's his mistake if he couldn't see how amazing it would have been if he had tried harder. Do you hear me? You were very brave.”

 

“And what good did it do?”

 

“It didn't work this time. I've no doubt it'll work with the next one.”

 

“If there's ever one.”

 

“Hey, now. Don't say that. Of course there'll be another one. Do you have any idea how many break-ups I went through before I met Aramis?”

 

Anne shakes her head, her tears soaking Porthos' fingers. She won't relinquish her hold for the world, though. She's safe here, he makes her feel much better than she's been so far. He almost makes the pain fade away and that's a feat she didn't believe possible today.

 

“A lot.”

 

“But you're you, Porthos,” Anne whispers. “You're strong and I'm....not.”

 

“Nonsense. You're the strongest woman I've ever met. Don't tell Flea I said that.”

 

Anne chuckles, smiles a real smile for once. Porthos beams at her, proud of the result.

 

“You're strong, Anne,” Porthos repeats for emphasis. He understands that she's feeling miserable and impossibly down this afternoon. And perhaps nothing he'll tell her will make sense to her for hours. Or days. Yet, he cannot sit by and listen to her state these ridiculous things about herself. “You're generous and you're strong-willed and you're passionate and this stupid ass couldn't see it but some will. They'll see how wonderful you are, how exceptionally amazing you....”

 

It all happens so fast after that. One second Porthos is doing his best to comfort her and the next, her lips are pressed so clumsily to his that he can't react.

 

He can't move. He keeps on clutching her face, her hands firm on his shoulders, holding on for dear life. And he's so surprised by the sudden turn of events that he can't push her back. He hasn't kissed anybody else but Aramis in years and the lips right now are smaller than his boyfriend's, wet from tears and warm. And there's lipstick. Porthos hasn't kissed lipstick in years and years.

 

Anne isn't thinking anymore. Her head hurts and Porthos has praised her for so long and she needs all the relief that she can get. He's hot and he makes it impossible not to shuffle closer. Closed lips under hers that she barely moves as well. The contact is all she wants. She wants to feel loved and she wants to feel wanted. She wants to know that she can do it. She wants it with someone she appreciates. Much more than she should.

 

There's desperation pouring out of her, stunning him, making it difficult to do anything.

 

But this is wrong.

 

“Anne, no!” Porthos exclaims after he's pushed her away, but even when doing so, his heart hurts for her. She's gazing at him with wide eyes, horrified and absolutely mortified. She licks her lips. “What are you doing? You can't...”

 

And then the full force of what she's just done hits her. Straight in the guts. Devastating and hurting to no end. She feels like throwing up. Her brain is in a haze because in spite of it all, for a split second she felt as good as she hadn't been in years, in his arms, but it's so wrong. She can't.

 

Is he mad? He doesn't sound mad. He's pushing her as far away as he can anyway, prying open the fingers clutching his arm. Porthos feels awful for doing that to her, but she's started it. They can't. He can still sense the ghost of the kiss on his mouth and he's clueless as to what it means. The way Anne keeps watching him makes him uneasy.

 

“You can't do that,” Porthos repeats, voice trembling, running a hand on his face after he's stood up. The more he'll say it, the more he'll believe it. “You can't. Aramis....”

 

One single word and before Porthos has time to realize what she's doing this time, Anne has stopped trying to keep the tears inside. She's sobbing openly and then she scrambles to her feet.

 

“Anne!”

 

Who knew she could run so fast with her heels? The door bangs behind her, the loud sound filling the silent room, leaving Porthos by himself, arms flailing at his sides, half-ready to run after her. Not daring to do so. World crashing around him. One minute and he isn't sure of anything anymore.

 

What just happened?

 

Anne's scarf lays on the couch, forgotten, so he can't collapse there anymore. Not after what she did. What they did. He should have pushed her away the second she leaned forward. This should have never happened. Porthos feels terrible because of it. Because he doesn't know what to make of it. Because he doesn't know what it means for the future. If it's ruined everything they've spent so long carefully building. If it's ruined the trust and the ease they've established between them.

 

Why did she even do that? She's never showed any signs that she might like him this way. And if she does, then what will Porthos do? He can't. He can't. He doesn't want to. But if she does, when what will happen to them? To the three of them?

 

Porthos is sick to his stomach simply imagining what he'll have to tell Aramis. It may have meant nothing, it happened nonetheless. And she's gone too fast for them to talk it through. What would they even say to each other? He's petrified by what her reasons might be. Whatever they are, it's too much to handle on his own and there's no other choice but to tell his boyfriend. Which is actually frightening in itself.

 

Aramis has grown jealous of whoever came too close to Anne during the past months. He tries to downplay it as being protective but Porthos recognizes the emotion perfectly since it's one he's experienced as well. Aramis and Anne have always been closer than Porthos could have ever supposed but he's gotten used to it. His place in their relatinship is clear and they're friends and he doesn't want any of it to change. His love for Aramis is far too great for him to jeopardize it with anybody else. Why would he want it? Aramis has given him everything that he was hoping for. And more.

 

He'll simply tell Aramis how it went. She was distressed and she reacted out of proportion. Porthos wasn't expecting it at all, didn't ask for it. He didn't, did he? He's not certain of anything anymore, not sure whether it's something he's done which has triggered Anne's actions. Was he giving any clue he might desire it? Porthos doesn't think so. He'll tell Aramis that she kissed him and then they'll have to talk to her about it. Not let it go unnoticed or else it will destroy their life.

 

Yes. Porthos still is confused but he's starting to understand what he has to do, despite his hammering heart and heaving lungs and the sweat pooling on his forehead. Cold and disgusting. He's a bit dizzy.

 

He's confused. About the entire situation. Confused about Anne and about himself and about the future. Confused about why she would leave so fast without a word to him.

 

His hands are shaking when he finally collapses in his chair, head on his desk. It's cooling on his face. But all he can smell is the perfume Anne was wearing, the scent all over his clothes. Should he have hugged her? Did she take it as a sign that it was okay to do more? How could it ever be okay? He has a boyfriend. Anne knows that. Knows _them_. And she wouldn't do this. She's told them time and time again how wonderful they were together, what a spectacular couple they made, how lucky they were to have found one another. No. She wouldn't do it on purpose. She wouldn't attempt to break them up like this. It would be out of character.

 

Maybe Porthos doesn't know her as much as he presumed? No. This is ridiculous. She's Anne. She's sweet and gentle and compassionate. What even are these thoughts Porthos is having?

 

The smell is suffocating, clinging to him like Anne clung to him. He can't escape it. Can't escape from his clothes. Can't escape from the taste lingering on his lips. They're tingling even long after Anne is gone and the feeling disturbs him. It belongs to Aramis. She shouldn't have....He shouldn't have.....

 

Porthos hates everything right now. He hates not knowing, not being able to ask, not daring to call her. Talking on the phone would be counteproductive. Would she even answer? He hates fearing that soon everything could be over. But surely, if they talk like adults, they can overcome it, can't they?

 

So many questions swirling in his mind and so little space to let them explode. No one who would understand. Porthos doesn't even want to talk anyone but Aramis. And even him, he isn't so positive about it. It's something he has to do, because there is no other option and yet, if he could avoid it, Porthos would gladly do so. He shouldn't have to dread seeing his boyfriend in the evening since nothing that has happened in his office should have occurred in it to begin with.

 

It was a spur of the moment, Anne wasn't herself and soon, they'll laugh about it. Aramis will tell him that he's too lovable, too cute and beautiful. Nobody can resist him. Anne will cringe and go out of her way to be forgiven, she'll blame it on temporary insanity and her terrible terrible excuse of a boyfriend breaking up with her. She was having a bad day. It meant nothing.

 

It's what Porthos keeps on chanting when he's in the shower back at home. The water running down his back, soaking his hair and his skin, is refreshing. It crashes against him in a loud motion, hot and soothing. He's been staying underneath it for far longer than a regular shower. His hands are splayed on the tile wall and Porthos hasn't moved for a long stretch of time. It feels better to be naked and to have washed away any trace of Anne on him. It won't erase what they did but at least he feels somewhat cleaner.

 

Aramis has texted him to let him know he was stopping by the fencing gym after work to see if he could practise without being in too much pain from it. Normally, Porthos would have been happy about it. That his boyfriend was less afraid of his injury and that he was doing something he greatly enjoyed. That Porthos could spend some time alone. But tonight, it's as if fate is delaying the unavoidable. Porthos can't help but grow nervous.

 

He rests his forehead against the wet tiles, lets the noise of crashing water invade his ears and his mind. It'll be all right. It has to be.

 

Aramis is a bit dishevelled after Porthos is done in the bathroom, stepping out in worn-out clothes to find out that he isn't alone in the appartment anymore. He's feeling down, doesn't care much about the table Aramis is setting. The bright and lovely eyes setting on him as soon as he's in the room make Porthos' heart clench. He feels guilty.

 

It'll be all right. It wasn't even a real kiss. But it's Anne. And that's what makes it so complicated. Everything related to Anne and them is complicated in its essence.

 

“How's your ankle?” He hovers as far away as he can from Aramis. There's this disturbing feeling in his heart that tells him he isn't worthy of coming closer until he's come clean. Porthos hates it. He tries to smile.

 

“In excellent shape! I didn't feel anything!” Aramis' joyous self should please the other. It does. It can't overshadow the rest. Aramis bounces closer to show him, eager to get a welcome home kiss, delighted to finally be in the appartment and to be able to tell his boyfriend how fantastic it was to train after months spent watching from the bleachers.

 

“Something happened today at the gym.” Porthos stops him, eyes resolutely staring at Aramis, doing his best to hide how insecure he is. It'll be fine. Aramis will understand.

 

“Something bad?”

 

“I guess.....” Porthos exhales a long breath, shuts his eyes for a second, opens them to Aramis cocking his head at him. It comes out in a rush. Fast but there's no other way to do it. “Anne kissed me.”

 

“Anne? My Anne?” Silence stretches between them, Aramis taking a step back to study his boyfriend, to decide if it's a joke, if he should be mad because it's a ridiculous one or if he should scream. He's confused. He doesn't understand anything. And then he's angry. Furious. “You _guess_? How....How, Porthos?”

 

“Well, she was upset because that douche dumped her by text this morning and I was trying to comfort her and then she just....kissed me.”

 

“And you didn't try to stop it?”

 

Porthos almost recoils at the shriek. This isn't going as smoothly as he'd hoped. Aramis has the exact reaction his boyfriend was dreading. Fists balled at his sides, fuming in front of Porthos. Shouting so loudly so quickly that Porthos needs to make sure Aramis knows all the details of what's happened.

 

“She kind of took me by surprise! Of course I stopped it when I realized what we were doing!”

 

“When I said that I wanted you to be friends, that's not exactly what I meant!”

 

“You're the one who told her that she should try to meet new people.”

 

“Oh, so it's my fault now?” Aramis scoffs. It doesn't matter what prompted the kiss. It's happened and that's unacceptable. He hasn't been that mad at Porthos in a long time. Perhaps never. He can't help how he's behaving. He's boiling and feeling betrayed and it doesn't matter that Porthos is somehow trying to remain calm.

 

“I didn't say that.”

 

“God, I can't believe it! I can't believe she did that to me.”

 

“Excuse me, I'm the one who got kissed. Not you.”

 

“But you're _my_ boyfriend! Did you....did you like it?” Aramis suddenly asks, terrified by the answer, terrified that the question sprang in his mind.

 

He doesn't even know why he's asking the question. It's horrific to know what's happened, to imagine them all wrapped up together. Ugh. His heart hurts. Actually hurts, deep in his chest. Looking at Porthos, this remarkable boyfriend and how much he loves him, how much he needs him in his life, how he cannot imagine it without Porthos in it. How could they let this happen? Aramis is aware he's letting all his anger out on one person while two deserve it. He can't stop. He can't stop throwing angry looks at his boyfriend, standing tall in front of him, looking calm and yet shaking a little as well.

 

Porthos wants to remain in control of his emotions since he's had more time to think it through, but Aramis is making it difficult, screaming and in such a rage. Porthos flinches at the question. He loves Aramis. He's in love with him. The answer should be simple. And yet he cannot find the words to say it. His mind is blank. He shuffles on his feet, looks down, stammers.

 

It's impossible for him to say a small, easy word. Porthos can't, doesn't know why and hates himself for it. For what it may mean.

 

Tears fill Aramis' enraged eyes. His chest shrinks around compacted lungs. He can't breathe. He can hear his heart actually breaking. The silence is all the answer he believes he needs. He's not okay with that. He won't let them get away with it.

 

“Son of a bitch!” Aramis curses, to no one in particular. It feels good to state it out loud, even though he isn't insulting anyone. This is it. For Porthos at least. Whatever semblance of wanting to be able to have a fight like two normal adults he had before, he throws it out of the window. Aramis has no right.

 

“What the fuck, Aramis?” he shouts back, effectively making Aramis start. The booming voice is as sharp and frightening as his boyfriend has ever heard it. There's one tear rolling down his cheek. Aramis makes to take a step forward, then stops himself short.

 

“No, not you. Not you, Porthos. You know....I just...Fuck. It was just...Not you....I...I need some fresh air.”

 

Porthos won't have it this time. One person has already escaped him today. It won't happen with his boyfriend. He can't run away from a fight like that. Especially not one as big as this one. Porthos is petrified by the outcome, can't see how they'll resolve it. Aramis is shaken beyond comprehension, saying things he doesn't mean, things Porthos is aware he says from time to time and yet he took it personally tonight. In spite of knowing it wasn't against him. They're both of a mess.

 

He chases after Aramis who has dashed in the corridor leaving the front door wide open.

 

“Aramis!”

 

Aramis turns around on his heels, and his answer is almost a snarl. The neighbors might hear them but he doesn't lower his voice. He can't. All the pain he's feeling is choking him. He can't even look at Porthos without wanting to say terrible things he'll probably regret. Most certainly will.

 

“Five minutes, Porthos! Can you at least grant me five freaking minutes by myself? I deserve that much!”

 

Porthos ends up staring at the empty space where Aramis was before he disappeared down the stairs. He has no idea whether he should cry or scream or punch something. It didn't go as fine as he had expected it. He's clueless as to what he'll tell Aramis to calm down, how he'll explain why he couldn't give a proper answer. He can't even be sure himself. Porthos kicks the side of the door, slams it when he strides back inside.

 

It's empty and eerily silent. He despises it. It should be a cozy and happy place. A safe one. They should be able to have conversations without running away from each other. But then again, this has no precedent. Neither for Porthos nor for Aramis, he believes. Who knows how they should react?

 

The appartment looks cold and unwelcoming and Porthos can't settle while waiting. Aramis will come back, of that he is certain. Porthos can't blame him for wanting some fresh air, a cigarette maybe, some quiet to organize his thoughts and hopefully calm down enough for them to resume a normal conversation. As normal as it can be.

 

And Aramis indeed seems calmer once he eventually comes back. More than five minutes have passed, enough for Porthos to pace frantically wondering what was going on, what else had gone wrong. A lot it seems. His heart drops at the sight of Aramis' crestfallen and defeated face. He's cried. Still is apparently.

 

He closes the door quietly, sniffs and hates having to show Porthos how vulnerable and miserable they've made him. He hates them a little as well, Aramis supposes. They've done what he would have never imagined and it hurts so much that he can barely breathe. Porthos looks marvelous, even when he's worried and the mere sight sends sharp pain in Aramis' guts. He hiccups.

 

“This is it then?” he asks so quietly. The words are raw on his tongue.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Us. This is it?”

 

His voice is impossibly soft because he doesn't want to believe it either. Porthos can't leave him. He can't. Aramis couldn't take it. And yet, what else could happen after such a day? It's shattered everything Aramis had put his faith in. He can't see any other outcome. He wants to throw up. All of this, all of these years and for this?

 

Porthos cannot understand how his boyfriend would have come to such a conclusion. _He_ is the one who used to be insecure about them, about their relationship, about love and people abandoning him. Porthos has known that Aramis hadn't been really successful in the past either, but that sounds so harsh, coming out of nowhere. He can't have that. But he can't be mad at Aramis for thinking it. He looks as confused as Porthos is, terribly heartbroken, far more than Porthos expected. He needs reassurance.

 

Aramis so heartbroken, all traces of joy gone to leave this shell of a man who doesn't even move once Porthos carefully walks towards him. Porthos wants to reassure and yet, he's a little annoyed that Aramis wouldn't trust themselves more. Even though this is the worst they've had to go through together, it seems rather over the top.

 

“How can you say that? I love you. You know that. I've been loving you for months. For years now. I love you, Aramis. I love you. How dare you say that?”

 

“Well you....”

 

“Do you even hear yourself? What? One silly kiss and...”

 

“This wasn't a silly kiss!” Aramis cuts him, shouting back. Porthos doesn't comment on it. It was. Only a peck. Aramis can't know that. In his mind, it must have taken incredible proportions. Porthos is on a mission, standing close to the other he could touch him if he wanted to. He doesn't though. He couldn't bear Aramis shrugging him off. Not like this.

 

“One kiss and you think we're breaking up? Do you realize what it would mean? She's the mother of your child. How weird would it be? And I don't want to. I want _you_ , Aramis. Always have and always will. I love you.”

 

Porthos keeps on repeating these words, wanting Aramis to believe him as much as he's always done. Nothing has changed on this aspect. Their love is too profund, too beautiful and too exceptional to be swept by a mistake, however great it might be. Aramis raises shining eyes to gaze at Porthos, his wonderful face and honest smile. His lips quiver when he reaches out for Porthos' hand, holds it close and then they're all but flushed together.

 

Aramis can't escape it. Can't escape the attraction and how reassuring the words have been, washing over him. Definitely not washing away problems and insecurities but perhaps these words, these _I love you_ s, he can trust. Porthos puts one trembling hand on Aramis' hip, rejoices at how he doesn't scowl at the touch.

 

“But you said you liked it,” Aramis mutters, frowning more than he already is. He sniffs, lets Porthos wipe away the few tears lingering on his cheek. Aramis has to close his eyes. The fingers are smooth and they're Porthos' and he wants to be touched by them forever. He never wants it to cease. They're calming him down. Being close to Aramis calms Porthos as well, tells him that not everything is lost.

 

At least nobody is shouting now. Porthos' voice is nonetheless hoarse.

 

“I said nothing of the sort.”

 

“Your silence implied it.”

 

Porthos sighs, hates how insecure Aramis still is. Truth be told, he has every reason to be. He wasn't there at the gym, he doesn't know what truly happened even though he trusts Porthos to not lie to him. The fact that he told him is already proof enough. His lack of answer to Aramis' question, however....

 

“I don't know what I felt, okay? I don't know! It's all so confusing. I don't even know if she kissed me because I was the one right there with her after a miserable day or because she actually meant it.”

 

Aramis draws out a shaky breath, not completey satisfied with the explanation. Porthos isn't either. Hours later and he isn't a hundred per cent certain that Anne's kiss wasn't something he enjoyed. He can't have, though. How weird would it be? Where would this feeling come from anyway? It's all so complicated.

 

Aramis surrenders to what he can totally have faith in: Porthos' arms being the best place in the world if he feels sad. He rests his head on the other's chest, feels the beating heart and how labored Porthos' breathing is. They're both in a terrible shape.

 

Porthos tentatively sneaks his arms around his boyfriend's waist, slowly, to give him time to stop if he should ever want to. Aramis doesn't protest, but sinks further against him instead. That's a comfort. The silence is as well. Not as heavy as it was during their outburst. Not as awkward as when Porthos couldn't answer the question. It's tainted but it's not hopeless.

 

“I know you're upset, 'mis. And I get this, I guess I'd be too, if the situation was reversed. But you've hurt me. Saying what you said about us,” Porthos confesses in a whisper. Aramis shudders against his worn-out tee-shirt and the familiar scent.

 

“What else was I to think?”

 

“Not that I would let you go so easily.”

 

“Yes, but...there must be a reason. There must be a reason why you can't answer and there must be...” Then, another terrifying thought overcomes him. “God. What if it has ruined everything? What if....what if she doesn't want to see us anymore? What...I can't live without Mati.”

 

Aramis is gripping Porthos' shirt with mighty strength, realizing everything else that could go wrong apart from destroying his relationship. He's shaking even more.

 

“You need to talk with her. Hell, we both do. She scurried off so fast I didn't even get a proper chance to talk it through with her.”

 

“Dammit. What was she thinking, Porthos?” _She_ kissed him, Aramis remembers. He has to hold on to whatever little hope he can find.

 

“I don't know.”

 

“I'm so scared.” About everything, so many things, so many earth-shattering consequences that he can't make sense of most of it. But he's safe in his boyfriend's arms, at least for now. He can say what's on his mind. “I'm angry, too.”

 

“At me?”

 

“A little,” Aramis decides after a while. He can't help the feeling. He dislikes how Porthos nods, obviously hurting even more at the confession yet unable to do anything about it. “But....But I trust you. You wouldn't....You wouldn't....”

 

Porthos kisses the top of Aramis' head fiercely. Kisses his cheeks after he's forced his chin up. Aramis' eyes are so hollow, so unlike him that it saddens Porthos. It'd make him cry, too, but what good would that do? Then Aramis shakes his head, refusing the kiss on his lips which was to follow. Porthos was expecting this. It doesn't stop his heart from bleeding at the rejection.

 

“I can't. Sorry. Not tonight.”

 

“All right.”

 

“I think I need to be alone, too. I'll....I'll sleep on the couch.”

 

“Mati's bed would be more comfortable.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Aramis smiles faintly, musters enough courage to gaze at Porthos in silence without thinking about Anne. Why has it come to this? How couldn't it stay as perfect as it was until an hour ago? Is it how it feels when your life threatens to fall apart but you won't have it? Porthos is too important to be discarded so quickly, Aramis realizes. He's amazing and he must be hurting as well. Perhaps more than Aramis is. Are they hurting differently? The situation seems to affect them both the same. And yet, Porthos is the one who keeps on patching things up. What has Aramis done to deserve him?

 

“I love you, Aramis. With all my heart. Tell me we aren't ruined.”

 

“I hope not.”

 

“I don't want us to be ruined.”

 

“I don't want it either, Porthos. You're....I love you so much, god, it hurts. It hurts so bad.”

 

Porthos feels the same: sharp stabs of pain in his chest, hammering at his heart and his ribs, making him want to double over, curl on the floor and weep. He wipes away a lone tear on Aramis' cheek, gazes at the sad eyes, confused and worried.

 

“Thank you for telling me,” Aramis adds from the depths of Porthos' embrace. He may need time alone to make sense of it all, it's a torture to think that he'll have to step away from Porthos. He isn't even hungry anymore. Nothing could pass through the knots in his throat, in his stomach. It's heavy with the terrible news.

 

“Of course. I'd never keep secrets from you. We're a team, aren't we? The best, remember?”

 

Aramis chuckles in his sobs, finally makes the first step to kiss Porthos' cheek. Too quick and too hasty but the touch is comforting. It's late and then Porthos crosses his arms over his chest, protecting the heartache happening in it at the sight of Aramis wandering to his son's empty bedroom, shoulders heaving, uncertain on his legs.

 

The rest is silence. Depressing. Oppressing.

 

Porthos can't breathe in the living room. He can't picture eating either. Not by himself. He's too full of the tragedy and of all the scenarios he had imagined, it's the worst which happened. They desperatly need to sit down with Anne, the both of them, to understand what prompted her actions, what she meant by them. Porthos is sick from it. She's messed things up between them, all of them. He may be a little angry at her now.

 

Aramis' fury is understandable, too, now that Porthos has time to ponder it, alone that he is in their bedroom. It doesn't excuse what he might have said, but Porthos does believe they've talked it through when they had somehow settled down. And whatever resentment or apprehension his boyfriend might have about the state of their relationship, Porthos hopes he's reassured him. He doesn't want one kiss, one moment of folly to ruin it.

 

He's churning his mind in a bedroom too big, a bed too large for one person especially when its second occupant is on the other side of the wall. He has no idea how long he turns around, thrashing and wishing with all his heart that nothing had happened. That Aramis was by his side, sleeping peacefully. Porthos had expected the anger, he hadn't expected such frantic rage and it makes the aftermath of it all even more frightening. In spite of how much he trusts Aramis.

 

Then the door creaks and Porthos is relieved at the noise.

 

“Porthos?”

 

“Hmmmm?”

 

“You're not sleeping, are you?”

 

“As wide awake as you are.”

 

“Good. Can I come in?”

 

Porthos would chuckle at the question. Not tonight. There's nothing funny about it.

 

“Of course you can, cupcake.”

 

Almost at once, Aramis jumps on the bed to end up on top of his boyfriend. Somehow the sheets have been kicked to the bottom of the bed and his chest is so warm that Aramis feels his mind settle only thanks to it. It was too quiet in the other room, too quiet when he tried to sleep on the couch because Mati's bed may have smelled like home and family, it wasn't comfortable. Aramis loves his boyfriend and he wants to be close to him.

 

So he hangs on to the other's shoulders as if his life depended on it. As if Porthos was going to leave him at any moment. Which Aramis is fairly certain won't happen. He's been honest, they've talked even if there are some sides of the problem Aramis still doesn't undertand. What he trusts however are the strong arms around him, the low sighs in his hair. How protective Porthos is, how careful. How thankful that Aramis has come to him.

 

They aren't ruined. Porthos has no idea how they'll go back to normal, if they can ever go back there, but he's positive this isn't the end of it. They may have to make do with another normal but they'll be fine. Eventually. He can feel it in his guts.

 

“He ditched her?” Aramis whispers after a while. He'd overlooked this aspect of the day so far. He's a little upset for Anne if it's true. Not enough to forget what she's done. But it's always a bummer.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What a prick. Still not a reason for trying to steal you. I'm so mad.” Which is a new feeling to have when it comes to Anne.

 

“As you should be. I don't think that's what she had in mind, though.”

 

“I should call her right now, shouldn't I?”

 

“She's probably sleeping.”

 

It's two a.m. Neither of them is in the least sleepy.

 

“I hope she isn't. If we're having a wretched night because of her, then so should she.”

 

“You might wake up Mati.”

 

Porthos is the voice of reason. Aramis isn't pleased by it. But again, what good would it do to talk -and probably shout- so late at night? It might make it worse.

 

“Right....I'll go see her tomorrow then.What did you say to her? I mean, you must have said or done something. She's not the type to kiss people out of the blue.”

 

It really is out of character now that Aramis has spent hours thinking over everything that Porthos said to him. The bursting anger has subsided, still simmering deep in Aramis' heart yet he's more clear-headed after some time alone to see where the problem really lies. It's not about them breaking-up or Porthos wanting to leave him to be with someone else. It's deeper than that. More complex.

 

“I don't remember,” Porthos answers, not lying. He recalls the general tone of the conversation in his office but the dreadful kiss has overstepped on the specifics of it. “She was venting and blaming herself and I must....”

 

“You must have said something terribly nice because that's who you are,” Aramis finishes for him. “You can't help it and I love you for it.You're always there to comfort the people you care about. And you care about her. It's plain to see.”

 

This, Aramis can admit. He's seen it, known it for months. He was proud of Porthos for opening up and letting Anne in their relationship. For not being too jealous of her. Porthos can't contradict him on it.

 

“We've been spending a lot of time together in the last months,” he admits. “We did grow close.”

 

“And she's so kind. Considerate and loving. So smart and cultured and joyful. Always ready to stand up for herself. So strong and passionate and caring.”

 

“Aramis?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Weren't you supposed to be mad at her?”

 

“I am. It doesn't lessen her qualities.”

 

Porthos dares run his fingers in Aramis' perfect hair, relishing in the low hum of approval he receives in return. He sighs above the curls. He's been thinking a lot, too. And he's come to some disturbing conclusions that he needs to state out loud. The sooner the better. What more can they lose?

 

“Do you remember how I used to be jealous of your relationship, 'mis? Well, sometimes I still am. Let me speak,” Porthos urges. Aramis has pushed himself up and over to prop himself on his elbow to have a better look at his boyfriend. His mouth is partly open in the dim glow of the light. Porthos needs to say what's on his heart without being interrupted. Aramis complies.

 

“I am jealous even though I've learned to understand what you two have. And it's a beautiful friendship, one that no one else has. But you can't tell me that from time to time, there are gestures between you that don't belong between friends, even the closest ones. You love her, Aramis.”

 

“Not like I love you.”

 

He's adamant on this. Always has been. Porthos has found a way to his heart nobody had before him.

 

“Don't you, though? Because believe me, what you have can hardly be referred to as platonic. Sure, you don't kiss and you don't hold hands but what you have is so much deeper. Much more meaningful. It's love no matter what. Even if you don't show it the same way.”

 

“But you....”

 

“I'm not saying that what _we_ have is less meaningful. Far from it. What we have is precious, too, Aramis. So much. But you're in love with me and you love her. You're the one who was jealous when she said she was seeing someone.”

 

“I wasn't jealous. I'm the one who told her that she should date people, as you so aptly put it earlier.”

 

“And yet, you could only criticize a man you'd never met.”

 

“With good reasons, apparently. This isn't being jealous. This is being protective.”

 

“Are you this protective of all your friends?”

 

“She's different. She's Anne.”

 

“My thoughts exactly.”

 

What is unfolding is an overdue discussion, Aramis starts to realize. So does Porthos. Stating it all out loud, hearing the words echo in the bedroom, quiet and soft-spoken, no resentment in them, only truth, it isn't as unnerving as he may have presumed. They're a team, Porthos strongly believes in this. Aramis and him, but incidentally, also Anne. She's part of the family, in ways they may have chosen to ignore before while they've allowed each other to grow more comfortable, to establish a trust and care they didn't know the end of.

 

“We tried to date, you know that. We were rubbish at it,” Aramis reminds him.

 

“So what? Love doesn't have to be successful at first. We're both experts in it, aren't we? The one you have comes from ease and years of living together. That's what Charon and Flea have, too. When we were kids they used to _hate_ each other and I can't remember when things changed but it didn't come overnight. It came from years and years of being together. With Anne, you're the same. You understand each other perfectly. And I used to be jealous of this. Of all your little gestures because I believed she would steer you away from me.Except that now, I'm not sure I'm jealous for the same reasons.”

 

Aramis perks up at the last statement.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“She's....she's everything you said. And for some reason, it makes me sad to imagine that she could disappear from my life. Just like you do.”

 

Porthos exhales a breath, relieved to have this out of his chest. Aramis takes it all in. It's not as unexpected as he thought. They're getting along perfectly. He was even disappointed they got to have dinner with Mati the previous week while he was at the festival. Disappointed because they were with his son, but also because they were alone without him.

 

He knows what he feels for Anne is unconventional but the mere memory of dating her -or attempting to- makes him cringe and it's a part of his past he'd rather forget. To what else could it lead? Does he even want this? Does Porthos want it? Aramis is already loving two persons at the same time, definitely not on the same level, nothing will convince him otherwise. But could Porthos do it? Knowing how fearful he used to be of people leaving him? Would he want that?

 

What about Anne? She must have been feeling something to decide to kiss Porthos.

 

They fall silent after that, both digesting what's been said. Aramis can't help it. He _has_ to know. He's his boyfriend.

 

“Did you like it? The kiss?”

 

“Aramis.....”

 

“Please.”

 

Porthos sighs, turns on his side to face his boyfriend. He traces the outline of Aramis' beard with a fingertip, lets it glide on the perfect facial hair up to the crinkles around Aramis' closed eye.

 

“I don't know. It was too fast. I honestly couldn't answer.”

 

“Yet you're troubled by it.”

 

“Yes.” Porthos can concede that much. It's obvious anyway. It's what's upset Aramis in the first place. It still does.

 

“I don't want to lose you.”

 

Aramis clutches the finger on his cheek, brings it to his lips to kiss it. Puts it to Porthos' lips afterwards.

 

“You won't. Not if I have my say in it.” Porthos' voice is steady as he proclaims this. He'll fight for them. He'll fight to keep Aramis, Anne and Mati. He won't allow anything to come between them. They'll overcome it.

 

Aramis buries himself closer, hooks one leg with Porthos'.

 

“I don't want to lose Anne, either. I love you both so much. I need you both,” Aramis says, desperate. Porthos runs his hand up and down Aramis's back. Even through his tee-shirt, Aramis relishes in the touch.

 

“See what I was saying? And I believe I'm starting to understand that it's all right. Because you'd never abandon me. No matter your feelings for her.”

 

“Of course not, Porthos. You're both my favorite people.”

 

“Maybe I've known this for quite some time but....I'm confused, 'mis. I don't want to lose any of you either.”

 

“Do you love her, too?”

 

The unexpected question drops between them. Porthos is unsure of his feelings, perplexed by them. There's too much going on in his heart, too many new confounding emotions that may have been present for weeks but that the afternoon has unleashed. It'd drive him crazy if the situation wasn't already doing so. He used to be so certain that Anne was his friend. Only his friend. A fantastic woman he loved spending time with. Now, he couldn't say.

 

Porthos does have to say something this time, though. He can't be silent like he did earlier. Aramis is already tensing against him, fearing the stretch of hesitation. Fearing the answer and yet when he hears it, he cannot feel surprised by it.

 

“......Perhaps. Not like I love you. I don't think so. But I'm happy when I know we'll see her. Or that we'll spend time with her. More than I've ever been to see any of my other friends.”

 

“Maybe she means more to you than they do. Like she does for me. She's one of a kind.”

 

“She is. And she always seems so delighted to see us, too. Much more than she was when talking about that dick. You're my sweet ray of sunshine but she does shine bright as well, whenever she's around.”

 

“You do, too,” Aramis declares. Yawns.

 

Porthos's head is swarming with it all. Are they all right? Are they really all right? At least the two of them? Have they come to some understanding? It would seem so, in spite of all the truths they've just told one another. Thanks to them, maybe. This must be what they mean by trusting someone so much you're ready to tell them things which could potentially hurt them so much. Push them away but you need to say them because what good would it do to keep everything bottled up?

 

The future is still uncertain, but if they have both acknowledged whatever they might feel about Anne (and Porthos is rather puzzled by his own feelings), then they can work things out with her. Aramis is still mad at her because she kissed his _boyfriend_ , without invitation or provocation and that's never ever acceptable. Whatever anger he had at Porthos, though, it's gone. He's unsettled by the new feelings emerging for Anne and yet, who would he be to decide they're a deal breaker? He'd be such a hypocrite if he did.

 

“Are we always going to end our arguments being cheesy?” Porthos hazards. Aramis yawns, rubs his beard onto Porthos' neck.

 

“It reassures me.”

 

The words rumble on the skin, consoling in themselves. Porthos smoothes the hair on his face, tentatively tries to cuddle Aramis closer. Aramis lets him.

 

“Can I kiss you, 'mis? I've brushed my teeth.”

 

His body shakes with laughter in Porthos' arms. Honest and genuine.

 

“Which doesn't change anything, by the way,” Porthos is quick to add. “My mouth was closed the whole time.”

 

More laughter ensues, a welcome sound after so much heartache and heartwrenching conversations.

 

“I believe you, Porthos.”

 

Aramis stretches up, lands a long and meaningful kiss on Porthos' forehead, feels the disappointment in the way his boyfriend shifts next to him. Aramis snuggles closer, kisses Porthos's eyes and the side of his mouth.

 

It'll do for now. Aramis' heart was breaking earlier in the evening and even if he strongly believes the pieces are coming back together because he's nothing to fear regarding Porthos, he'll need some more time.

 

It'll do for now. Porthos is holding the most important person in his life the closest he can, he's feeling every part of Aramis against him. Their life might be reshaped soon, nothing can steer them apart so if he has to make do with kisses everywhere but on his mouth, it doesn't matter. As long as he hasn't lost Aramis forever.

 

It'll do for now.

 

 


	17. April (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The morning after

Aramis wanders in the appartment, as quiet as he can be, waiting for the clock to show a time appropriate enough to wake up Porthos. You'd think that after such a short night, he would have wanted to sleep as long as he could. He couldn't. He did sleep. A couple of hours. But most of his dreams were terrible and he started awake sweating so often that in the end, he gave up. He doesn't even think that he is tired. He's living on the adrenaline of the shock of the news Porthos shared last night.

 

And also on all the stupid ideas he thought and the things he said to his boyfriend during their fight. Aramis cringes recalling how ridiculous it was to immediately believe that Porthos would leave him. He wouldn't do such a thing. Not over something as petty as a stolen kiss. One that they still cannot make sense of, but one which will definitely be explained later in the evening. Aramis is adamant on this. They have to know if Anne is on the same page as them. Truth be told, it is a little bit frightening and he has no idea how he will make it through the day. The impending discussion is likely to distract him from work.

 

Unfortunately, there is nothing he can do about it for now. For the time being, he feels somewhat refreshed after his shower, wearing one of Porthos' old tee-shirts. There are so many pictures scattered in the apparment to look at, especially the sensational one Athos gifted them last year. It's gorgeous and all the love that Aramis can feel in his heart gazing at it mends his ache. It was an idiot move to react over the top, to dash out of the appartment into the street, to cry because he was so sure that his boyfriend was going to break up with him. How could he? How could they?

 

In all the long months they've been together, the thought hardly ever crossed Aramis' mind and in a couple of minutes, it had crashed so hard and suddenly on him that he had felt as if his body was made of glass and it was exploding into so many tiny shards that it could never be fixed. What a mistake to make. Because Aramis may have felt betrayed, and rightly so, Porthos clearly looked hurt as well. So much. And this wasn't Anne's fault. This was Aramis'. Hot-headed and passionate and for the split second he lost his trust in Porthos, he'll never be able to forgive himself. Porthos didn't deserve it.

 

Porthos looks peaceful while he sleeps though, miles away from how he was last night, conflicted and dejected and confused. Aramis is surprised he doesn't have a headache from all the epiphanies they came to, but he has no doubt he'll have one before the end of the day. Not enough sleep and too many interrogations to avoid it. The sight of a slack Porthos in bed, face buried in the pillow, one arm thrown where Aramis should be, clutching the sheets, comforts him to no end. It settles his heart and soothes him. It's beautiful and it's pure and it's him and Aramis will never _ever_ get enough of it.

 

Whatever may happen, he won't give up on Porthos easily. Just like he firmly believes that Porthos won't give up on him either. He said so last night. Aramis trusts this. He trusts everything they've gone through together, he trusts their troubles and how they overcame them. He trusts how they can talk and work things out. He trusts how close they've grown, how much they've learned from each other. Because when he looks back on it, Aramis finds all these exceptional memories that they've made and what an outrage it would be to discard them all for one mistake. One that Porthos wasn't even responsible for.

 

Anne certainly belongs in most of the recent memories they've made and her smiles, her laughter and her happiness are a big part of them. She cannot disappear from them either. They'll find a way. Aramis loves her too much to let her go. Perhaps Porthos agrees on this, too. He most certainly does, if all that he confessed during the night is true, which Aramis has no doubt about. It's confounding for him, too.

 

So for now, Aramis prefers to focus on watching Porthos, how his chest rises steadily in his slumber, how he wrinkles his nose from time to time. The way he mumbles and sighs when he rolls around, gropes, finds nothing and rolls back on his back. It's cute. It's compelling.

 

The touch is warm on Porthos' arm and familiar enough that he doesn't startle from it. The light is too bright in the room, though, soon shielded by Aramis' face. Once Porthos' eyes set on it, on the tentative smile and the damp hair hanging over it, he feels more awake. He's groggy and he hasn't slept enough. His head hurts with the sudden remembrance of the previous evening, the fight and the talk they had in bed later. He remembers Anne in his office, too, and sadly, that wasn't a dream either.

 

Porthos groans, registers how soft Aramis' greeting is. His fingers are smooth on his chest, grazing casually. Carefully. Porthos rubs at his eyes, shakes his head, groans some more when he realizes the time.

 

“How long have you been awake?” His voice is hoarse, one arm thrown across his face. Aramis stops crouching to sit on the bed. Porthos is warm and the attraction is inevitable. When has Aramis ever wanted to deny it? He shrugs.

 

“I was starving. I couldn't go back to sleep.”

 

“Right.”

 

As if on cue, Porthos' stomach also growls. He hasn't eaten anything for many hours and Aramis' words act like a spell. He's famished. The noise makes Aramis chuckle.

 

“I made you coffee,” he says, pointing at the mug on the bedside table. Porthos props himself up in bed, looks at his boyfriend with wide eyes. All traces of sleep are leaving him quickly, replaced by this churning in his puzzled guts and the worry which has taken hold of his heart.

 

“And I had some breakfast but I'll make you some more. I didn't want it to be cold,” Aramis adds, shifting a little closer, watching Porthos sip on the drink.

 

“You don't have to.”

 

“I know. I was an ass last night.” It comes in a soft whisper. Aramis is so ashamed of his attitude. His eyes hurt from all the crying he's done in the shower upon waking up. He's aware it's a ridiculous thing to ask but he has to be certain. He has to hear it, over and over again. “Don't leave me?”

 

Porthos frowns, decides coffee can be reheated later whereas his boyfriend's feelings need to be warmed up right this instant. He gathers a troubled Aramis in his arms, lets him hang on to his neck desperately and curl himself on his lap.

 

“I would never do that, 'mis. Never. Ever. Not because of last night. We talked about it. I love you.”

 

“I know and I do, too. So much. But I said terrible things.”

 

“You were in shock and you apologized for it already.”

 

Porthos remembers falling asleep to his boyfriend's gentle chant that he was so, so sorry and that he should never have doubted him in the first place. That he overreacted because the mere idea that Porthos might want to leave him behind was insufferable. Unthinkable.

 

Aramis hides his face in the crook of Porthos' neck, inhales the husky scent and the steady run of fingers up and down his back reassures him of facts he knew deeply in his heart. He'll need to make sure often to understand that they aren't broken.

 

“I'm here and I've got you,” Porthos adds. “You've hurt me but I've hurt you and we....”

 

“But that's the point, Porthos. You did nothing wrong. You....simply couldn't answer a question. I was stupid.”

 

“And now we know why I couldn't and we're going to work things out. Like we always do.”

 

Porthos is so mystified by his feelings, whatever he might feel for Anne, that he's rather dreading the outcome. Aramis feels good against him, though, as if nothing dramatic had happened between them. Snuggled cozily on his lap. Porthos' arms are strong around him. Quiet and calm. He listens to Aramis' deep breathing and how he shakes once in a while.

 

“Yes. I hope.”

 

“So do I.” There's also something else they need to discuss. One thing Porthos has been thinking about because of how his boyfriend reacted at the news. Because Anne may make a devastating decision, one Porthos needs to be prepared for. One he would hate, that's certain, but one which might happen. “Aramis....you know what I've always said, right?”

 

“About?”

 

“Mati and you. That if.....if there ever came a day when you had to make a choice....”

 

“Don't you dare finish this sentence,” Aramis cuts him off, shouting in the tranquil atmosphere. He raises his head sharply, stares at Porthos with such fierce eyes that his boyfriend cannot help but be impressed by the ferocity he makes out in them. “I will not choose him before you. There might have been a time when this could have been a possibility,” he concedes, “ But now? Come on. You're you, Porthos. I will not give you up. Whatever happens, we'll make it work. You're _Porfos_. You're his dad, remember?”

 

The words find their way straight to Porthos' heart. All of them. He feels all the emotions seizing his throat under an assurance he had been aware of for months. In the wake of yesterday, it is more incredible than it used to.

 

“We're your family and you're ours and if you're not going to leave me then we will not.” Aramis sounds resolute, leaving no room for Porthos to contradict him. Instead, he nods slowly, crushes Aramis in his arms and sniffs in his boyfriend's hair. “Nobody is leaving anyone. Agreed?”

 

Aramis' voice breaks because even though their world seems to have shattered, they are doing all they can to patch it back up. It was the most foolish idea to jump to the conclusion that they were going to break up. It's more true now in the few minutes Porthos has been awake than it was while he was watching him sleep. They're made for each other. Imagining a future without Porthos is dull and cold and simply impossible. It wouldn't be a life worth living. Not knowing everything that they have, everything that they could still have.

 

Anne will only have to accept it because she belongs with them as well. Aramis has never been as happy as when they are the four of them together. Nothing can top cuddling with Porthos and being silly together. But they can still do so and have Anne around. They've already been doing it. She didn't seem to mind. Whatever might change or be redefined, Aramis will accommodate it all. He loves them both as of now anyway.

 

But he'll have the rest of the day to worry about this. For now, it's Porthos who is in his arms, Porthos who laughs timidly in his hair at how authoritative his boyfriend is being. It's comforting and it makes him feel much better than he's been since the previous afternoon. Letting go of Aramis so that he could still have his child hadn't crossed his mind in so long. Not since Anne and Mati moved to Paris. Their dynamics changed from that moment on. Porthos would still have sacrificed himself for the greater good, because tearing Aramis from the boy would have been inconceivable. It still is today. Except that the mere thought breaks Porthos' heart. He loves Mati, too, cannot imagine living without him.

 

Can't imagine living without Anne either. How they'll make room for all these new developments, he has no clue. They'll do it, though. Porthos is positive of it. It isn't as scary or preposterous as he might have imagined. If he has Aramis who loves him with him, he can do it. They can do anything. He loves him so much and seeing him so loving and comfortable this morning in the aftermath of what could have been the end, it's amazing.

 

Porthos still cannot wrap his head around the fact that Aramis thought they were going to break up but somehow, it makes a little sense. Considering what Aramis is feeling for Anne, what he always has been feeling, it wouldn't matter if it was a stranger or Porthos coming close to her. He would have felt jealous and attacked nevertheless. Except that this time it's Porthos, even though it wasn't premeditated. So that'll probably be all right for his boyfriend. They're a family already as Aramis strongly proclaimed it. They're going to stick together. Now that they've made things clear between them.

 

“Agreed,” Porthos eventually replies, smiling. Relieved.

 

“I need you. To drag me outside and exercise. And to remind me to turn the music off. And to beg me to make that pasta dish.”

 

“Good. Because I've no intention to learn that recipe. It could never be as good as yours.”

 

“Flattery won't lead you anywhere, sweetie.”

 

“Won't it?”

 

Aramis shakes his head, finds that it hurts but in the safe bubble of bliss they've created around themselves, it's irrelevant for the moment. What matters is Porthos' partly open mouth. Lips stretching around his soft smile, inviting and kissable. Irresistibly welcoming once Aramis leans forward to rests his lips against Porthos'. One second of complete stillness and then two arms squeeze the life out of Aramis as he shifts on the other's lap to press closer.

 

Then Porthos' tongue in everywhere in his boyfriend's mouth, rubbing and licking and so greedy that Aramis hangs on to Porthos' hair to avoid falling backwards. It ignites such incredible sparks everywhere under his skin, as if he could have forgotten the effect Porthos had on him. Aramis surrenders to the kiss and the warm tongue, gasping for breath but unable to stop going back for it. It's Porthos, it's hot and fast and strong. It makes Aramis' toes tingle with delight and thankfulness.

 

Porthos can't contain himself. He's been denied kisses last night, for reasons he could understand. But they are good now, Aramis and him. They're good and they're kissing and it's turning him on so quickly. Such a little touch and he's hot. Because for a few hours he believed Aramis was lost to him. He isn't. He's here. He's in his arms, he's letting Porthos kiss him. He's kissing him back, violently and passionately, fingernails digging in the skin of Porthos' neck, scrambling to be as close as possible.

 

The mattress sinks around them once Porthos has rolled them over and he's flushed on top of his boyfriend. Aramis can't resist it, moans and clutches, likes how Porthos' beard scrubs the side of his face, his neck. How Porthos keeps on kissing any inch of Aramis' skin he can put his lips on. What a folly it would be to want to put a stop to this. To everything.

 

Aramis looks transfixed once Porthos pulls back, just enough to gaze at him. Kind eyes and swollen lips look back at him, so high above Aramis. So far away. This is it. Aramis knows. He's known for so long.

 

“I love you, Porthos.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

“I love you when I'm your cupcake and you're my sweetie pie.”

 

Porthos snorts, leans down and almost can't take it when Aramis doesn't refuse the kiss.

 

“We're delicious,” he decides. Aramis nods.

 

“You're my boyfriend.”

 

“I am.”

 

“You're much more.”

 

“I hope.”

 

“You're not mine and I was wrong to think that. Because you're your own person and what a beautiful one it is.” Aramis' hand is gliding on Porthos' naked chest, simply to rejoice in how lucky he is to be able to do such a thing. He's blessed and Porthos sits back on his heels, listening. “And you've decided to trust me with your life and it's such an amazing gift and I've fallen into your heart so fast. So hard. Life would have no meaning if you weren't there.”

 

“It wouldn't have any if you weren't there either, 'mis.”

 

Aramis smiles, sits up to shuffle close to Porthos. They're going to be late for work, Aramis at least. He couldn't care less. This is much more important.

 

“I love heavily and passionately and I love _you_. You're soft-hearted and compassionate and caring and you're a gift to the world, sweetie. You've let me in.”

 

“I didn't have much of a choice. You were there and I was drawn to you. I love _you_.” Porthos feels like he is repeating stuff he's said hundreds of times. And yet, if this morning isn't the perfect moment to state them one more time then he doesn't know what could be. “You are, without doubt, the best thing I have ever stumbled upon. More than when I met Flea and Charon or when I was adopted, or when I realized I could have a life of my own out in the world. You've mended problems I wasn't even aware I still had. And you didn't even try, 'mis. All you have to do is be here, smile and look at me.”

 

“That's what home feels like, does it not?”

 

“I suppose.”

 

“You're my home.”

 

“You're mine, too.”

 

“You. Mati.....”

 

“He's helped so much. Without even knowing it,” Porthos admits. He's proud of himself for how much he's grown thanks to the little boy.

 

“And he loves you. Because you take excellent care of him.”

 

“I'm his....”

 

“Yes, yes you are, Porthos.”

 

One day Porthos will fully acknowledge this truth and be able to say the word out loud without breaking down. It doesn't matter if this day is far away. Knowing what he is for the child, what Mati represents for him, it's enough. Especially since everyone else can see it as well. Until then, he'll let Aramis say it for him. Although his boyfriend does tear up a little, too. He's immensily gratified that his son has made such an impact and impression on his stepfather.

 

“And then there's Anne,” Aramis hazards. They cannot ignore her forever. Porthos sighs. He puts a stray lock of hairr behind his boyfriend's ear. Lingers there.

 

“Don't yell at her too much. She was distressed.”

 

It's Aramis' turn to sigh. He searches Porthos' face, finds the hint of guilt in his eyes that he cannot have. He's done nothing wrong. From what he told Aramis, he did everything he had to. The blame is on Anne. For now.

 

“I'll try. I shouldn't have yelled at you either. You didn't cheat on me.”

 

“And I would _never_. I swear.”

 

“I believe you. Perhaps it wasn't even what she was thinking.”

 

“I honesly don't know if she was thinking at all,” Porthos ponders.

 

“God. I hate that we have to do this.”

 

Aramis huffs, falls back on the bed with a dramatic flail of his arms. What a terrible situation to be in. He fears the consequences, hopes they'll be positive and refuses to picture that everything could crumble. It can't. He won't allow it. Not now that he's certain Porthos is here to stay. Forever.

 

“It might be for the best.”

 

Porthos grabs his lukewarm coffee, because he's more awake now and his stomach is beginning to rebel against him and the lack of proper food. The liquid is hardly enough to please it. He has no idea what they'll do after tonight and he's certain he'll be uncomfortable from it throughout the day. And yet, he can't help thinking that Anne must be miserable as well, alone that she is with her thoughts and the consequences of her actions.

 

“Perhaps. Could you really do it?”

 

“Do what? Talk to her?”

 

“No. Love her.”

 

Aramis chews on his lip, watching his boyfriend react to the short words. It's a puzzling question he never pictured himself asking. Now that he is, he realizes how essential it is. Porthos has stated his confusion during the night and it's such an important aspect of their life that they have to talk about it.

 

Porthos frowns, sips on his drink. One dark drop falls down his chest and Aramis sets his eyes on it.

 

“I've chunned love for so long before you, Aramis. You know that. And with good cause. You came and burst through my beliefs so easily. I'm always a little scared it could end, even though at the same time, I know deep in my heart that I have no reason to be afraid. I guess that's what life is about. It does suck but I overlook it and focus on how silly and ridiculously adorable you are.”

 

In spite of the important moment, Aramis beams up at him, curls his toes, stretches happily.

 

“What we have is ours. It's precious and I don't want to ruin it. But I like Anne, too. Because when she's around we can act as if we were alone and it doesn't bother me. We get to be us and she did say that we were cute together.”

 

“She was high on her medication,” Aramis reminds him.

 

“There must have been some truth to it for her to even have the thought. And in so little time, I've gone from wanting to spend all my spare time with you to realize that it's always better when she sticks around. But I do like having only you. Except I...Does it....does it make sense?”

 

“I think. You know I've always been comfortable around her. I never mind if she's with us. She's funny and I think it makes her happy. She's Anne. She's the best.”

 

“I never imagined I could be so comfortable as well with her. It's unsettling but now, I couldn't live with it. You and her. You're two of a kind.”

 

“We're lucky we've found you.”

 

“We'll see about that tonight,” Porthos has to say.

 

He hasn't answered the initial question about loving Anne because he's never thought of her like this. He loves Aramis, is in love with him, always will be. To think that his heart could accommodate someone on the same level as his boyfriend, it's too confounding to process. Perhaps he could.

But there is so much love bursting out of him for Aramis that it's almost inconceivable that he could have more. Perhaps he could.

 

He's been wanting to love and be loved since he was a little boy. Perhaps he could. It's all happening at once, even though it might have been building up slowly for the past months. Unnoticed.

 

Perhaps he could. He'd like to try. If Aramis wants to.

 

Aramis listens carefully to Porthos' stammering reply. He's so unsure of his own feelings that his voice is trembling. And not because he's afraid he might hurt Aramis. Not on this. Not anymore. They're done hurting the other for today.

 

“Whatever she says, it'll be all right. Because no matter what, it'll still be you and me,” Aramis reassures the both of them.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And if it's more, then we'll learn to handle it. To enjoy it. I would. And if it's less....”

 

“We're not talking about this outcome unless it actually happens.”

 

This is something Aramis can gladly comply with. It won't stop either of them being distracted by it at work, but it won't spoil their little moments of happiness together.

 

Porthos sets the empty mug on the bedside table, lies down close to Aramis and brings him flush in his embrace. He kisses warm and delighted lips because it's become his new favorite thing to do. Aramis relaxes in the safe arms, tangles their legs together.

 

“I lied. My ankle hurts,” he whispers after a while.

 

Porthos doesn't comment, only shifts so that they're not touching anymore. He lets his fingers glide over Aramis' forehead, on his cheeks, down his neck. He waits patiently while his boyfriend takes off his tee-shirt, thankful eyes landing on Porthos. Then he resumes his silent actions, watches steady fingertips against a shaky and heaving chest. Aramis' heart is beating fast under his touch. Porthos drops one small kiss on top of his boyfriend's head. Everything is fine.

 

There's no other intention than to soothe the pain in his foot as Porthos' hand roams Aramis' chest, his stomach and his sides. It's tickling but Aramis would't ask him to stop for the world. He does squirm a bit, until Porthos puts his hand on his hip to quieten him. It stays there, rubbing back and forth while Aramis is distracted by kisses and body warmth and how amazingly things have turned out. So far.

 

“Better?” Porthos rasps out, brushing his lips against his boyfriend's. Whatever Aramis has gulfed down for breakfast, it tastes marvellous. He's so hungry.

 

“Yes. Perhaps I'll have to resign myself to never fence again.”

 

“Don't give up on yourself so quickly, 'mis.”

 

“Things change.”

 

“Yeah, they do.”

 

“Maybe they change for the best.”

 

“You're not talking about fencing anymore, are you?”

 

“No.”

 

Whether they wanted things to change or not, it's been forced on them. They'll have to go with the flow and hope they'll make it to the other side as undamaged as they can. They're not afraid for their relationship. Porthos firmly believes there is nothing to fear on this aspect. But for their family. It's as scary to imagine that this could change as it was that their couple could be endangered.

 

“I hope you're right.”

 

Porthos clutches Aramis' hip, rolls them around so that his boyfriend is lying on top of him. Aramis has no desire to move from the comfort of their bed. Not until Porthos' stomach makes itself noticed once again. This, Aramis can also do. Take care of his fantastic boyfriend, cook him breakfast. And sit on his lap while Porthos swallows it down.

 

He can be late at work if it means spending as much time as he can in his boyfriend's arms.

 


	18. April (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same day. The evening at Anne's. 
> 
> I listened to [this song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z-VkgiHZlXE) while writing the chapter.

Mati is playing difficult with his mashed potatoes and the fish fingers. He wants ketchup that he eventually gets because his mother has no energy left to stand up to him. Then the potatoes turn a strange red color and Anne is for once thankful that her stomach is in knots and she has hardly been able to eat anything since morning. Or else her son would have disgusted her of the food in her plate. She hasn't touched it at all.

 

She's exhausted. She hasn't slept well. She's cried a lot. She's wanted to call given that she's behaved like an idiot, like a blushing teenager who was unable to confront her problems or the consequences of her actions. Somehow, talking on the phone didn't seem appealing. Sending texts would have been counter-productive. What if they were misinterpreted? But she desperately needs to apologize.

 

The mistake that she's made if so huge that she's worried sick she's ruined everything. All the thoughts swirling in her head are devastating and horrific. Anne doesn't want anything to change. It's been perfect so far. Not for her, but for her son. Mati has been delighted from the moment they've moved to Paris and he's been able to see his father almost every week. They used to be so good on their schedule, respecting their weeks. It's changed lately, for a few months now. Porthos was scared that it might bring trouble. It hasn't. It's made it all better.

 

They've spent so much time together, days and afternoons and even some evenings. Any time Anne can spend a few hours with the men, she's over the moon. They overshadow everybody else. They've been for quite some time. The both of them together.

 

But she's also incredibly grateful to see Aramis who has become an even more remarkable father. She's so proud of him. Proud of how he endured being away for long years and barely complained about it. At least not to her. Aramis is funny, goofy sometimes and spending more time with him in his everyday life rather than on holiday has brought her back to their first months in Madrid with a baby. She likes this Aramis.

He's not the same as when they were younger, but he's an improved version. She likes this one, too.

 

Besides, he brought Porthos with him and Anne would have never imagined that they would get along so well. He's close to perfect, which Aramis constantly praises, in spite of all the little things which annoy him about his boyfriend. Anne feels good with him, too. He's a gentle soul underneath it all. She feels priviledged to have been able to witness it. To witness them together. They're adorable and they are so in love that at times, it's as if it doesn't matter if _she_ isn't. If she hasn't found someone who makes her feel the same as the boyfriends feel for each other. She honestly doubts anybody could equal their love and passion. Their dedication.

 

When she's with them, when she thinks about them, Anne is at peace and she's content. She can live like that. They love Mati and Aramis is her best friend. Porthos is exceptional.

 

And she has just ruined it all.

 

If only she could admit to herself why she did something so ridiculous, it might make her feel slightly better. At least she would know what to tell them when they'll come around. They should be here any minute now. Aramis' text was devoid of any emoticons, which was a strange fact in itself. One that made her tense immediately. Even though it was a text, Anne could hear how cold the words were. She's terrified.

 

She has a vague idea of what prompted her action in Porthos' office yet she's been denying it for weeks. Stating it out loud sounds like an impossible feat. She'd die of shame. How could it be worse than it already is, though?

 

She's sick and she cannot move when the doorbell rings. Mati is all too glad to be distracted from his appaling food to run to the door. Anne's hands are shaking once she stands up. Her legs too. This isn't happening. This is all her fault and she's damaged their relationship. She's done the unthinkable and Aramis must despise her. She can't live knowing that it's what he may think of her. It hurts too much.

 

“ _Pap_ _á_ _!”_ The shrill is followed by gibberish, Aramis complaining that Mati is too big and since he'll be six in a month, he'll soon be too old to be carried in his father's arms. Mati protests violently.

 

“ _Mamá! Papá's here!”_

 

“ _Yes. I know.”_

 

Anne can't look him in the eye. She's a coward. Aramis is only looking at her, though. She wants to cry.

 

“ _Are you staying to play? Are we going to watch a movie? I've a new book!”_

 

“ _Later, perhaps,”_ Aramis replies tentatively. She looks like a pure mess, in spite of the nice clothes and the glittering necklace. He feels sorry for her, for one second. He may not yell at her like he promised, he's nevertheless angry. Perhaps he should have called during the day. Perhaps they should have had this discussion over lunch instead of waiting an entire day. Their lives are all so busy that somehow, it didn't seem practical and who knows how long it'll take them to resolve all their issues?

 

“ _Did you bring dessert? I don't like the potatoes,”_ Mati keeps on complaining. 

 

“ _What? Potatoes are yummy! Why don't you go finish them. Mamá and I have to talk about adult stuff.”_

 

“ _I stay with you.”_

 

“ _Mati, go eat in front of the TV,”_ Anne decides and that's _so_ never happened before that Mati has nothing to complain about. He unceremoniously scrambles out of his father's arms, oblivious to how Aramis groans. Then he's gone to the other room and he leaves silence behind him.

 

Awkward. Heavy. Suffocating. Anne crosses her arms on her chest, dares glance at Aramis who shifts on his feet. She will not cry.

 

“ _Didn't Porthos come? He doesn't want to see me anymore, does he?”_ She should have known. Tears are going to spill, she just knows. She's an idiot. She hates what she's done to them. She closes her eyes, breathes heavily to try to regain some countenance.

 

“ _He's catching up on me. We haven't had dinner yet. He's out to buy something.”_

 

“ _You could have had my food. I'm not hungry.”_

 

Aramis knows the feeling. Or at least knew it the previous evening. He's been starving since waking up, coping with their mutual stress by overeating. He's spent his lunch break on the phone with Porthos, all the while eating frantically. They couldn't get enough of talking either. Because the both of them are okay, regardless of others. Regardless of Anne. They'll certainly be better if they manage to talk about their problems.

 

She looks so distressed, hovering so far away. There's chirpy music coming from the living room. Aramis sighs. She looks pale and really, she needs to eat something. One glance at the table and he can see that her fork is clean, that nothing has been touched in her plate. He can't have her be sick.

 

“ _You'll take some of my French fries,”_ he decides. Anne has to chuckle, the sound breaking in her constricted throat. She wipes a tear, finally finds some courage to look at him without casting her eyes down. He looks exhausted, he looks like he's had one hell of a day. It was foolish to think Porthos wouldn't tell him. Of course he did. He's his boyfriend. She's messed up.

 

“ _He doesn't hate me, then?”_

 

“ _Of course not.”_ Quite the opposite actually.

 

“ _Do_ you _hate me?”_ Her voice is incredibly quiet. Anne wrings her fingers, chews on her lip.

 

“ _Last night, yes. A little,”_ Aramis confesses. Anne flinches. _“I hated the both of you.”_

 

“ _What? Why? Porthos did nothing wrong. Aramis,_ he _did nothing wrong. I'm the one to blame. I'm the one who...”_

 

“ _I may have over-reacted a bit.”_ Aramis isn't proud of it. He runs one hand in his hair. _“I thought....I thought Porthos was going to leave me after what happened.”_

 

Anne gasps. She hiccups, one hand on her mouth to contain her shock. And then she can't stay in control and she's sobbing openly. Aramis doesn't know what to do. He's upset with her for what she's done, but she's Anne and she's in obvious distress. She looks miserable and she's clutching her stomach, kneeling because standing on her feet is too much. She's destroyed their relationship.

 

How can he be mad at her when she's breaking down? He can't fight it.

 

“ _Hey. Hey,”_ he says gently, kneeling by her side, reaching out to hold her close. Whatever prompted her action, there's no point trying to talk about it if she isn't calmer. Aramis is also rather afraid she might forget to breathe because of all the crying and the hiccups. _“It's all right. Porthos and I are all right, Anne. We're good. It was a misunderstanding and we talked about it. We're good.”_

 

“ _It's my fault.”_

 

“ _Well.....”_

 

“ _It is. You can say it,”_ Anne chokes, clutching his arm firmly. He still cares about her and it's a thought she can't quite comprehend. He should hate her like he said he did last night.

 

“ _You made a mistake and I'm angry because of it. But we're going to fix it. The three of us. Agreed?”_

 

It may be all the wonderful promises Porthos and him made in the morning or the subsequent discussions they've had during the day, but Aramis cannot bring himself to be as mad as he was yesterday. He's had time to think about the events and clearly, it's unfair for Porthos to have had to suffer his wrath and to have been hurt much more than he already was. Aramis will do all he can to fix it further.

 

Anne is so fragile in his embrace, holding on as if he was going to leave at any moment. He recognizes it for the feeling he's had about Porthos, when he was defeated and believed it was over.

 

“ _You don't hate me?”_

 

“ _I don't. Not anymore. I'm mad but I guess everyone in my position would be. He's my boyfriend, Anne.”_

 

“ _I know. I know. God, I'm so sorry. I don't....I don't know....I can't....”_

 

“ _Sssshhhhh.”_

 

His fingers in her hair are nice and he smells good. Anne forgets that she is almost sprawled on the floor. She's missed all this touching you could do with another human being. She never wants to let go.

 

The knock on the front door forces her to do so.

 

“It's open!” Aramis shouts, unwilling to abandon her. So that's where Porthos finds them, his hands full of warm food and apprehension in his heart. It wasn't a situation he was expecting. Somehow, it lessens his anxiety, to have to make sense of it. Anne is sniffing too loudly for her crying to pass unnoticed.

 

“What's happened?”

 

“I swear I didn't yell at her.”

 

“He didn't. He told me that....you almost broke up and....”

 

“And I also said we didn't,” Aramis emphasizes, standing up, dragging her to her feet as well. Her face is hidden against his sleeve, because looking at Porthos in this state is even more embarassing than to look at him at all in the aftermath of her kiss. But his voice is deep and soothing and it calms Anne. She likes the warm tones and the concern in his words. She likes how Aramis' replies are quiet and even. How careful he is to not show any raw emotions.

 

Yet, there is no trace of anger whatsoever on Porthos' face when she finally musters enough courage to glance at him. She's baffled by it, tears clouding her eyes. Why don't they hate her? She's done a terrible, unforgivable thing.

 

Anne coughs in the following respite, Porthos striding to them, studying her, kissing Aramis on the cheek, giving strength as much as gathering it. He may have been angry at Anne for a couple of minutes during the night. He can't be anymore. Of the three of them, it seems that she is the one who suffered the most from what's occurred. Porthos had hours to talk to Aramis and strenghten their relationship and their bond. Anne had no one.

 

He's close, won't blink while he stares at her. But it's not menacing. It's quite the contrary. Anne is confused. And then she can't stop talking.

 

“I'm sorry, Porthos. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. What I did was unthinkable. I shouldn't have and it was wrong and I'm so sorry. Please, please. I'm sorry.”

 

She takes a big breath, would resume her litany if it wasn't for Aramis patting her back. She's a little light-headed by the conversation.

 

“You look like you're about to faint,” Porthos comments. He's acknowledged the apology, doesn't require much more. He wants an explanation more than anything else. He knew fully well she would be mortified. He wants to know why she did it.

 

“She hasn't eaten tonight.”

 

“Well, you can't think on an empty stomach. We'll split it. I don't know what _this_ is but it doesn't look appealing.”

 

“Hush, Porthos. Mati will hear you!” Aramis says sternly, directing Anne to the kitchen table, sitting her down on a chair before taking the one on her left. Porthos' leg bumps with his own when he sits on Aramis' other side.

 

Listening intently, Aramis realizes the boy hasn't even noticed there was a new person in the appartment. It must be a good movie he's watching.

 

Anne surveys the entire container of French fries pushed in front of her while Aramis and Porthos share one. She's bewildered, drying her eyes, looking at them with complete astonishment. This is the total opposite of the dreadful scene she had pictured.

 

“Why must you be so wonderful?” she whispers. “The both of you. I don't deserve it.”

 

“Everyone deserves to eat. Go on. It'll grow cold.”

 

“I don't deserve you,” Anne continues, playing with a fry, nibbling on it. Chewing carefully because she doesn't want it to make her sick. It's good. She takes another one. Glances up when she next speaks. “I don't deserve how nice and all around amazing you are. Not after yesterday.”

 

“You were distressed,” Porthos says. It's the explanation which makes the most sense to him.

 

“Yes, sorry to hear about it by the way.”

 

“You never liked him, Aramis.”

 

“I never met him.”

 

“You never liked the mere idea of him.”

 

“Well, I'm sorry for you anyway.”

 

“In the wake of it all, this break-up seems insignificant.” She can't be upset about it anymore. Not after what she's done. She's more concerned about fixing things with Porthos and Aramis than dwelling on a man who ditched her overnight.

 

Aramis is staring in awe as she keeps on eating fry after fry, her appetite obviously back. Anne doesn't even notice what she is doing, popping the food in her mouth, fingers greasy, leg bouncing under the table. Porthos nudges his boyfriend and he's smiling a little when Aramis wipes his head in his direction. Anne is already looking much better. More alive.

 

“It was no excuse to....kiss you, Porthos,” Anne apologizes, so quietly that it's almost a mumble. Until she repeats it, loud and clear. She's not a child. She can face the consequences of her actions.

 

“I certainly didn't expect it.”

 

“And I shouldn't have left like that.”

 

“You shouldn't have. Do you have any idea how much of a headache I've been having trying to understand what went through your head?”

 

“We're both having one,” Aramis adds. Anne could say the same.

 

“I didn't know what to say and I was so ashamed. Sorry.”

 

“We get this. We appreciate it. I'd like to know why you did it,” Porthos presses. “I don't want to lose you or Mati. Neither does Aramis. But we need to talk about it so we can move forward.”

 

“I'm aware. I....Sometimes, when you're together and you forget I'm around, you kiss and I....I've always been fascinated by how Aramis glows after you've kissed him.” Anne blushes a little, looking pointedly at the wall behind them. “I don't spy on you but you're there and it's simply too magnificent to be ignored. Do you have any idea of how spectacular your love is? How it radiates everywhere you are?”

 

On instinct, Aramis grabs Porthos' hand and holds on to it. She couldn't be more correct.

 

“And....I can't remember ever feeling this. I'm not jealous of it but it makes me happy for you. You've found each other.”

 

“Yeah, yeah we have.” Porthos nods and for the first time tonight, Anne can genuinely smile at him, feeling no guilt or remorse. His eyes shine with kindness. She loves them. Porthos shows so much with his eyes. He allows her to see so much. Aramis beams at his boyfriend.

 

“That's something that I'm yearning for, you both know that and yesterday was a terrible day. I don't think I can do that again, despite what you told me, Porthos. I can't let people in for them to shatter my trust and my hope. It hurts too much.”

 

“Not everyone is like that.” Aramis' heart is worried about the issue of the conversation and yet seeing her ache over the bastard and how he may have rendered her hopeless for any fulfilling relationship, it stirs something inside of him. Anne sounds scared, regretful and he wants more than anything else for her to be loved and to love.

 

“You're not,” Anne agrees. “Neither is Porthos. And he's also great at comforting people and yesterday I....you were saying all these terrific things about me and I....I wanted to see if kissing you could comfort me like it does with Aramis.”

 

Anne stares at her hands after her difficult confession. She does believe her kiss was a reflex due to Porthos praising her. He was giving her one sort of relief though she was looking for much more. So she did the only thing Aramis always does whenever he's seeking some. She saught Porthos' arms and his mouth.

 

“I shouldn't have but I wanted to see if it could appease my heartache. And you're so lovely, Porthos. I've learned to understand and know you over the past months. It almost felt natural. I didn't think twice before doing it.”

 

“I can confirm that. It surprised me to say the least.”

 

“And did it?” Aramis asks, trying not to sound offended. They're discussing her kissing his boyfriend after all. Yet she's told them how sorry she was and she does look it. Besides, her reason to do it, even if there will never be a good one for how she acted yesterday, it makes sense to him. “Did it comfort you?”

 

“Obviously not. Given the context.”

 

“And also because you did it without having given us any hint of what you might feel for Porthos. Or for us.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Porthos and I had a long talk. Several actually. I love you, Anne. I've loved you for so many years.”

 

“I do, too,” she says back. This isn't something she is ashamed of. It's been out in the open for long years. Their affection, their familiarity, how close they are in spite of barely seeing one another more than a few months every year. Which is what changed drastically since she's moved to Paris. A move which has turned most of her emotions upside down.

 

“And I love Porthos, too.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Do you?”

 

“Do I what? Know that you love him? I think I made this pretty clear already.”

 

“No,” Aramis insists. It's a terrifying thing to ask of her but no less frightening than inquiring about Porthos' feelings for her. “Do you....Do you have feelings for Porthos?”

 

Anne startles on her chair, moving back a little to put some space between them. She wasn't expecting this. Porthos kicks Aramis' foot under the table. He could have been more subtle. Aramis misinterprets the move.

 

“Right. Sorry. You ask her.”

 

Porthos can't help but snort at Aramis' silliness and his eagerness to stop making mistakes. Anne looks like she's going to fall backwards if he doesn't redirect the discussion on a safer ground. Aramis can be a bit too blunt when he desperately wants answers.

 

“I've grown to appreciate you very much, Anne. You and Mati. For different reasons. We're a family, the four of us. Aren't we?”

 

She gives a timid nod, her mind too confused by Aramis' question to talk.

 

“We've always made it work, despite the problems we've had. We found a way. And I love it. A lot. Sometimes, I can't believe this is actually my life now. If it was up to me, I wouldn't change anything about it. It was perfect. And then you kissed me. It changed everything.”

 

“But I didn't mean that! I've never wanted that!”

 

“We heard you. Calm down.” Porthos is resolute to not have her lose it again. Her frantic interruption isn't helping. How can he make her see that she doesn't need to be desperate? That they'll fix it? “Aramis told you we talked a lot and I realized that I may like you more than just a friend. I don't know what it means yet, it's not the same I feel for Aramis, but I do know that you make my life better, Anne. I.... _we_ don't want to lose you.”

 

“I don't want to lose you either. My life would literally be the worst without you. You're the best people I know and if I could spend all my time with you, I would.”

 

Anne blushes as soon as she's done talking. Her mouth has run away from her. At least she's being honest.

 

“Do you have feelings for Porthos?” Aramis has to inquire once more. “It's all right. You can say it. We need trust or we'll never power through this.”

 

“I like you a lot,” she eventually admits. “I like you when you're with Mati. You're amazing with him. And I like you when you're with Aramis. It might be my favorite sight in the world. You two together. I....I'm not sure I've ever been in love but when I see the both of you....it makes me warm and content. It doesn't make sense.”

 

“You like us together,” Aramis repeats just to make sure. She nods.

 

“I also like the three of us together. But I don't want to come between you. It was a mistake and I will never do it again. You're too fantastic for someone else to disturb what you have.”

 

“Anne, you've already done so. Perhaps not in a bad way.” Aramis can't prevent how wide her eyes grow imagining once again that she may have ruined them. She hasn't. Far from it. She might have made them stronger.

 

“I adore spending time alone with Aramis. I do, truly. He's changed my life for the best. However, life is pretty damn chill when you're with us.” Porthos feels light saying what's on his heart to the both of them. The words are better in the open than in the depths of his mind, unacknowledged. His head is spinning a bit from them. From Aramis agreeing with him.

 

It'll get better in the end. It already is. Anne doesn't want to leave them. Apparently, the thought hadn't even occurred to her. It might have been the opposite she was afraid of.

 

“So you.....you still want me?” Anne is astonished and she has to ask for confirmation to really believe it. What's happened? No one has screamed at her. No one has told her that she was horrible, that she should be ashamed of her behavior, that she is a pitiful human being who doesn't deserve their forgiveness. No one has told her that they never wanted to see her again. No one has told her that she was disgusting. Nothing of what she expected has happened. How is it possible?

 

“Of course we still want you!” Aramis exclaims. “We'll always want you. As long as you want us, too. You're happy when you're with us and we're happy when you are, as well. This doesn't have to change if we don't want to. And I was so afraid because I couldn't live if one of you decided to abandon me.”

 

“What has to change then?” Anne has stood up because staying still on her seat has become impossible under the onslaught of these new developments and how her life is changing in front of her eyes. They're going to be fine. She's kissed someone she wasn't supposed to and for puzzling reasons it's triggered something greater. Porthos is looking at her with kindness, nonetheless shaken by the turn of events. How can a life be drastically transformed in a day. And not only one. Three.

 

“You told us what you liked.”

 

“I have to confess that spending time with you two was always more agreable than spending time with him.”

 

Aramis has to bite his cheek to prevent his grin. Porthos pinches the top of the hand Aramis has put in his. It makes his boyfriend jerk on his chair. He stands up, too. He's tall behind Porthos, his hands heavy on his boyfriend's shoulders. Porthos reaches up to clutch one.

 

“You'll always be welcome with us, Anne. Whenever and wherever you desire it. If being with us is what you need, then we're fine with it.”

 

Porthos nods to agree. This much he's positive about. Anne is a joy to be around. They'll hold on to her as long as they can. Others be damned.

 

“Thank you. I....I didn't think it would go like that tonight. I really believed you would hate me.”

 

“We love you,” Aramis is quick to reply. His shameful reaction of the previous evening is almost only a memory. His heart is hammering in his chest. It's too good to be true, to be able to talk like adults without screaming and to solve things calmly. “I was an ass to Porthos and he's taken it all and for what? For us to realize that we may be in love, you're a part of us as well. And I personally wouldn't have it any other way.”

 

“Porthos?” Anne's voice is so small, so unbelieving. She doesn't dare have more hope for the night. They're making her heart swell with their amazing confessions.

 

“You like me. You like us. I must confess I'm more than a little bit perplexed by what's happening and it's scary. But I like you, too, Anne. And perhaps all of this can make us grow closer? I don't know. I think I'd like that. I always want all the love that I can get.”

 

“With good reason, sweetie.” Aramis bends down, gives a kiss to his boyfriend, not expecting the force of the response. Porthos' lips are greasy and the fried oil is everywhere on his tongue, but it's definitely not enough to make them stop. Anne is transfixed by it.

 

“You do like to watch us kiss.” Aramis would be out of breath from Porthos' excellent care if it wasn't for Anne's blushing face and how adoribly she stammers. Porthos notices it, too. “You can watch us as much as you want if it's what you want. Can't she, Porthos?”

 

“.....Sure.”

 

That's quite thrilling when he thinks of it, now that any trace of major tragedy has vanished and they are only reshaping their new relationship. A little perturbing although everything that he has acknowledged and confessed since yesterday evening has been. In the midst of it all, he is certain of Aramis' love for him, of how Anne feels when she is with them. How she belongs. If it gives her some sort of joy to see them kiss? He can live with that. As long as he's certain he can trust them, Porthos can work to accommodate it all.

 

Anne cocks her head at them. Is she dreaming?

 

“And if you ever want to do more than watch then I for one, wouldn't mind.”

 

“Perhaps....Aramis is the single one person in my life I love the most but you, Anne....even if it's different, it's there nonetheless. If it makes you happy...I guess we always want to make you happy, too, don't we? You've done so much for Aramis as it is.”

 

“Absolutely,” Aramis agrees. “So if you want more, one day soon or not, and as long as we're all on the same page, it's fine with us. Although I'm not sure I love you in that way. We were rather terrible at kissing. But Porthos said love isn't always about this.”

 

“I don't understand,” Anne stammers.

 

“Would you have kissed them if it had been anybody else than me yesterday?” Porthos asks.

 

“Definitely not. I'm not like that!”

 

“Would you have kissed Aramis if he had been with you?”

 

Anne pauses to reflect on this question. The proceedings are unfolding quite quickly for her to see more than a whirlwind of emotions. It's fast and they're confronting her on things she's tried to hide for weeks because they were wrong. They're confronting themselves on their own feelings about her. Anne can hardly think at all. It pours out of her whether she wants it or not.

 

“....Maybe.”

 

“Even if we tried in the past and we were rubbish at it?”

 

“We weren't rubbish at kissing. I don't remember that.” Her blush is so far gone that she's stopped worrying about her cheeks being on fire. Her neck is starting to burn as well. Neither of them is reacting on it so that's a relief.

 

“We were rubbish at the rest. Dating and all.”

 

“That was seven years ago, Aramis. I'd say we've improved since then. Although we're not dating now.”

 

“What if we tried again?”

 

“Wait....what? I.....I don't understand,” Anne repeats, baffled. What long talks did they have to come to this conclusion? Why doesn't Porthos react to Aramis' ludicrous idea? It wouldn't do. She can't do that. She can't crawl in their couple and take away what they've built together. It's too precious. “I told you I didn't want to come between you.”

 

“Yes. But you could come with us. I mean, you have feelings for us, we have feelings for you, we're already spectacular together. And Porthos and I agree that it might change things for the best to try to become more.”

 

“It could ruin everything.”

 

“It could not. We're much closer than any other conventional family, straight or not. What if we could make each other even happier? You kissed Porthos for a reason. Regardless of that jerk. You showed him what else you might want from him.”

 

Aramis has thought long and hard about it throughout an unproductive day at work. Porthos is so lovable and gentle that his boyfriend never understood why all his past relationships could have ended up failing. So many people who wasted this gem of a man. Aramis has found him, has been granted all the love he can have from Porthos and it's made him the most thankful man in the world. Which is why learning about the kiss was harsh. Terrifying. Not so much now that Anne has explained herself. And even though she may be reluctant to explain her feelings further, she can't hide them. They're plain on her face whenever she glances at Porthos. Aramis can't blame her. He's willing to do this if it betters her life. He doesn't own Porthos. Besides, it'll a little exciting when he thinks of it.

 

“Yesterday, I thought I would despise you and that everything had indeed be ruined because you'd kissed Porthos. I wasn't there and for me, it was like you were trying to steal him, to have him behind my back. I understand now that this wasn't it.” Aramis has raised one hand to stop Anne from interrupting him. “Nobody is going to steal anyone because no one is for stealing. I guess what bothered me is that I wasn't there with you. That is was rushed and unexplained and it confused all of us. We can do better than that.”

 

Where has this come from? Anne can't form coherent thoughts because they've been saying so much. The both of them resolute in front of her, offering more than she could have ever expected, without making her feel guilty. They can't fake honesty. What they're suggesting is unsettling and Anne has never heard of it and yet, the second Porthos has confirmed that as long as she doesn't launch herself at him without warning and they can discuss what they might feel for one another, he's fine with what Aramis is saying, Anne wants it too.

 

She wants their comfort and their joy and all the glee they have together. That they already have with her. But she wants more. She wants their love, the love they have for each other and she wants them to show the one they have for her. They've been stating this so often for the past hour that Anne wants proof of it. She wants to be loved to pieces and the simple idea of it makes her heart beat faster.

 

How they'll make it work, Anne has absolutely no idea because this is uncharted territory but right this instant, it doesn't scare her much. After all, she believed everything would end tonight. So if instead it ends with such an unexpected twist, she won't complain. She loves Aramis and he's correct, there must be more to her kiss. More than she knows herself. With time, she'll work it out. How selfless he is. What has she done to deserve him?

 

Porthos doesn't feel an ounce of anxiety when he decides that what Aramis is suggesting would be worth trying. He can't see it any other way if they don't want their entire relationship to fester. He's a bit apprehensive of how it will unfold but it's Aramis, Anne and him and they're a team. He wants them both. His boyfriend and that troubled woman standing a few feet from them.

 

He also wants the little boy they had somewhat forgotten about and who was too engrossed in the TV to believe that his attention was needed somewhere else. Until the cartoon had stopped and there was a couple of seconds of silence before the next one. Long enough for him to realize that there was someone else with his parents and this clearly required the dash he made for the kitchen, bumping into a chair when he slid to a halt.

 

Aramis flinches at the forehead so close to the edge of the table. His son is oblivious to it, to the conversation he's interrupted. The French fries are more interesting. They're a bit cold, but they're still a little crunchy.

 

“Are we having a sleepover?” he asks enthusiastically. It's Friday night after all and all the adults are here. It must be a special occasion. Special occasions deserve popcorn and movies and cuddles. With his parents and Porthos.

 

“Not tonight, buddy. We're talking about serious stuff.” To make up for his disappointment, Porthos gathers the child in his arms and pulls the container of food closer to them once Mati is sitting on his lap. Aramis bends downs, gives Mati's curls a kiss and urges Porthos to put a napkin of the tiny lap.

 

They're excellent with Mati. They can be excellent with her. Even more than they are. Anne is blessed she's found them. Perhaps she was never meant for a regular life. But this one is hers and she wouldn't give it up for the world. They're hers. The three of them.

 

If Porthos and Aramis are brave enough to open themselves up to her, she'll take the plunge. How much she isn't sure yet, but she'll have time to figure it out along the way. She desires it so much all of a sudden that it makes her dizzy. Can a disaster morph into something exceptional?

 

“What about we watch the rest of your cartoon together instead?” Anne asks after she's come to them, watching Mati with ketchup on his fingers, giggling while Porthos tries to squeeze more out of the bottle. She touches Aramis' arm lightly. She's never seen so much love pouring out of him for her. Mati raises his head sharply.

 

“We have ice cream,” she adds and for her son, it's like this evening has become the most fantastic night of his life.

 

She hasn't given them a proper answer of how she wants to take things from now on. Asking them to stay for more than a heart-wrenching discussion is all that they require for the moment. She's smiling faintly at them while they gather their supplies to find out that the couch is overflowing with the pillows Mati has dragged from his bedroom.

 

This, they can do. They're good at it. They're used to this level of familiarity. They can huddle together with frozen treats, Mati wiggling in his father's lap, a blanket drawn on their legs. Porthos' arm is wrapped around Aramis' shoulders, his head in the crook of Porthos' neck. Anne hardly hesitates before curling on the couch next to Aramis, her arms safe around her legs. It's cozy. Mati loves it, fingers sticky from sugar that he puts everywhere on his clothes.

 

It could remain like that, Anne is very aware of it. The others wouldn't mind. They have each other already. They're content together, they're content with Mati and with her. Anne could simply decide that _this_ is a life worth living. Where would be her love? Where would be the love that she so desperately needs and that she's avoided for years? They're offering it to her, on whatever level she desires. How much she wants, she isn't sure yet. But she wants more than what she has right now. Of that she is certain.

 

Her eyes fall on Porthos' fingers, rubbing back and forth on Aramis' shoulder, close to her. A simple and affectionate move that he does absent-mindedly but which makes Aramis shift closer to his boyfriend whenever Porthos stops for too long. Innocent gestures that are common between them and that she wants as well.

 

Aramis keeps glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, marvelling at how well the evening has gone, in spite of his anger and his stress. Anne isn't going anywhere, she isn't forcing him to choose between Porthos and Mati. They've talked about everything, there really was no reason for him to overreact yesterday. It'll take some time for his heart to realize that they are fine, regardless of how many times things could have capsized. Porthos is strong and warm by his side, so much that with his son and his boyfriend, plus the blanket and Anne who seems to want to come closer to him, he's suffocating a little. He can handle it. He's used to it. The closeness of the situation. The lack of awkwardness between all of them.

 

Sometimes during the second silly cartoon -they cannot bring themselves to move to put Mati to bed, there's no school tomorrow- Anna finds courage and determination to tap on Aramis' shoulder. A light touch, close to Porthos' smooth fingers.

 

“Okay,” she whispers.

 

“Okay?”

 

“I want to be happy. With you.”

 

Porthos raises his head at the resolution dripping from her words. He was wondering when she would say something. Not that he was worried. It had been obvious in her reaction and her soft words throughout their conversation. Her finger is timidly touching his on Aramis' shoulder, testing.

 

Aramis suddenly breathes more easily. He kisses the top of her head, squeezes her waist and she feels safe.

 

“Hey, Mati, will you move a little? Mati?” The boy is hypnotized by the TV screen, ignoring the adults, singing along. The show is ridiculous but his parents wouldn't have it any other way. “Move a little, sweetie so Mamá can cuddle with us.”

 

Mati falls from his father's lap attempting to move without taking his eyes off the TV. He ends up half on Porthos' chest, which is all for the best. The boy clutches his stepfather's tee-shirt, stains it, urges him to look at the characters on the screen. Anne's flawless hair falls elegantly on Porthos' right hand after she's settled under Aramis' arm.

 

“I love you,” Aramis professes. To each of them and all of them at the same time.

 

It's a shudder against Porthos and they'll be fine. They'll be fine with Anne. They'll be fine the two of them. Not impeccable boyfriends. Flawed with ups and downs. And that's what makes them irreplaceable.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of this story. For two reasons. First, I won't be anywhere near my laptop until August 2nd to have any spare time to write so I wanted to have this issue resolved without leaving you with cliffhangers. Second, I know this development may not be liked by some of you so there you have it: your chance to say bye-bye to the series without having to stop reading this story.
> 
> There'll be a sequel, I always write sequels for my Portamis series. Except this time it'll be Porthos/Aramis and a large dash of Anne thrown in the midst. I hope most of you will still have enjoyed where I've decided to go with this series. I'm rather insecure about it, because I've never done anything like that so for once (and I rarely do it) I'd very much love to ask for some sort of feedback on it. Either positive or negative. 
> 
> I love my two boyfriends together, I love Mati and I love the dynamics I've created with Anne and I sure hope you liked them too!


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